“Old enough that I’ve seen entire civilizations fall only to be reborn,” Cayman replied.

“All righty, then,” I murmured.

“But to answer your question, you definitely don’t feel like a Warden.” His forehead creased as he studied Zayne. “You feel different.” His head tilted, sending a sheet of black hair over his shoulder. “But if I hadn’t seen the wings, I wouldn’t have known what you are.”

“How is that?” I asked, shifting from one foot to the next. Weariness was creeping into my muscles. It had been a long couple of days, and a day’s worth of sleep hadn’t gone as far as I thought it would.

“I guess it’s the same thing that prevents most demons from sensing that you’re a Trueborn. Some kind of heavenly shield attached to the grace, I suppose.”

“Could you sense a normal Fallen—one without its grace?” I asked, wondering if I could sense one myself.

Cayman nodded. “They feel like...like a very powerful demon. Not exactly but similar.” He leaned against the back of the couch. “Any demon worth its name will be able to pick up the aura of power around you, but their minds would never put holy and crap together and end up with a Fallen as the reason why. There just hasn’t been one roaming around for, well, since the Wardens came out of their shells. Obviously.”

“Interesting.” Zayne glanced over at me. “That is something that could be of benefit.”

“Yeah, except your little Targaryen burn-them-all moment Saturday night made it clear there was a Fallen on the scene—one with his wings and grace. I’m sure that’s spread farther and wider than obvious fake news on social media,” Cayman said. I guessed Purson wasn’t included in the DC Demons Facebook group or something. “Especially considering the way you feel reminds me of only one other being.”

My stomach tumbled. I knew who he was referencing. Lucifer.

“How does it feel, though?” Cayman asked. “Knowing where you really come from?”

“Honestly? Doesn’t feel good or bad. It just...makes sense.” Zayne briefly glanced at the demon. “Who I am or even who I was has nothing to do with ancestors who lived some thousands of years ago.”

“You’re such a disappointment,” Cayman muttered.

“Really?” Zayne replied.

“Yeah, because you’re so damn well adapted.” Cayman pouted. “It’s no fun to mess with you about your less than holy origins if it doesn’t bother you.”

“Sorry.” Zayne strode toward me. He took my hand, pulling me toward the couch. “Sit with me?”

“Of course,” I murmured, grateful to not be standing the moment my butt hit the cushion.

“But now I understand why Roth said some of the things he said,” Zayne added as he sat beside me. “And also surprised he’s managed to keep that to himself.”

“You and me both.”

“Even Roth follows some rules,” Cayman said.