Ash pulled the hood of his sweatshirt closer around his head as the band of survivors gathered supplies at the outskirts of the city.

He had taken off his armor and helmet and folded his wings until they melded seamlessly into his back. Then he’d donned his old pre-Collision clothes. Marcus had even found him a beat-up pair of tinted eyeglasses that would mute the slight luminescence of his eyes.

Ash hoped his disguise was good enough to fool his quarry. He needed to win their trust long enough to learn how they were evading the curse.

Rain began to fall, making the fabric stick to his skin. Already these clothes felt strange. He’d spent the better part of the last decade wearing full angelic armor on a day-to-day basis, ever since he’d accepted Raphael’s bargain.

Now the armor is sitting in the back of my closet in Belleville, a shining symbol of God’s might gathering dust.

But sometimes, might failed. Centuries of observation had taught Ash that. Kingdoms rose and fell like the tides. And it wasn’t the ones with the biggest armies or fiercest warriors that persisted. That distinction fell to the ones that valued peace and prosperity. Civilizations that prized knowledge and art over the sword—those were the true immortals.

Knowledge and understanding were required to win this battle as well. Somehow, he had to convince those people down there to give him both.

It’s a good thing I didn’t throw out my human clothes. He’d kept them in part to remind himself of the goal he was working toward. But Ash hadn’t anticipated ever wearing them again—not until this undercover mission.

For the last few weeks, he’d tracked the band of survivors, studying their ways and piecing together their structure. He confirmed his mystery girl was their leader. He could see it in the way the other members deferred to her, always seeking her approval before striking out to gather supplies. Another woman, a wizened and wiry crone, appeared to be her lieutenant. That made the entire group distinctly matriarchal in bent.

There were over forty in all, but the survivors rarely congregated in one place at the same time. They were typically split into smaller groups of four to six. Some hunted in the catacombs, looking for rats and other vermin, while others moved at the fringes of the wasteland, scavenging whatever they could to survive.

And somehow, against all odds, they were making it.

Okay, here goes nothing. Ash climbed down from the pile of rubble he’d been using to spy on the group who scavenged in the outskirts of the former commune of Bagnolet.

In the demon days, anyone blundering about out at the edge did so at their own peril. Humans attacked humans for whatever supplies or valuables they had. Unspeakable acts had soaked the soil with blood and bile. This was still considered to be a no-man’s land. Only thieves and killers lived here.

Can’t come off as one of those. Ash waited until his quarry was around the corner of a burned-out building before running out at a jog.

They stared and started, but not as badly as he. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted in feigned terror. Pivoting on his heel, Ash ran a few steps, tripping over his own feet and face planting into the dirt with a loud thud.

Scrambling, he turned again as if afraid to keep his back to a potential threat.

The others had begun to run away, too, but when one of them saw him fall, he turned back. It was a teenage boy—Theo Faure if his guess was right. He stared at Ash as the others ran.

Ash held out his hand, palm out defensively. “I don’t want trouble,” he called out. “I’m just looking for someone.”

He thought the boy wasn’t going to answer, but the youth’s curiosity got the best of him. “Who are you looking for?”

Slowly, Ash got to his feet. He dusted himself off, careful to keep the movements slow and unthreatening. As an angel, he could never look as emaciated as a human even when starved. Here the appearance of being well-fed and fit was a mark against him.

Once he was sure the boy wouldn’t run, he pulled out a sketch. He’d made it himself. The rough picture was of an average-looking young woman. “This is my sister, Helena. She was at work in the canning factory, but disappeared a few days ago. It was just before the glassworks had a meltdown. I’m…worried about her. She has brown eyes and hair my color,” he said, pulling his hood back to reveal his head before drawing a line at his shoulders. “She’s this tall. Have you seen her?”

The boy’s head drew back as if he were thinking, but he was eyeing the bulging muscles on Ash’s forearms.

Ash could see the youth’s suspicion, but also concern and sympathy. The latter was the sentiment he needed to exploit—carefully. Someone in his position didn’t come right out and admit they had a relative who was a Firehorse. That would only put a target on their loved one’s back, and their own by extension.

The boy knew that. He was wary. Though this area was not as dangerous under Ash’s rule as before, traps were still common enough. The kid would be a fool to take him at his word. Ash needed to prove himself trustworthy.

“Look, I don’t know if you’ve seen her, but if she’s anywhere, it’s here at the fringe.” He kept his hands up, palms out, to demonstrate his weapon-less state.

The boy shook his head. “I don’t think she’s out here, man.”

Ash took a shaky breath. “Maybe she is, and you just haven’t run into her yet.” He paused, trying to figure out how to convey his honest desperation. The sentiment was real—it just wasn’t about a missing relative. “I would like to give you something in case you find her.”

He opened his knapsack and took out a few of the ration bars he’d packed, making sure the boy saw the rest. Made with oats, cereals, wild nuts, and honey, the bars were a highly sought-after source of nutrition. Packed in dried maize husks, they could last for almost a year if stored properly.

After fastening the sketch to the bars with a string from his pack, Ash held them out. “I realize you’re going to eat these instead of her, and it’s all right. But if you see my sister, maybe you can help her out if she needs it. It would only be long enough for me to get to her. I would owe you a favor then—a big one.”

The boy shuffled his feet, maintaining his distance, but still taking what was offered. But he couldn’t mask the calculating expression on his face as he weighed the bars in his hand. “Can you get more of these?”

“I can,” Ash said. “I used to haul grain at the factory that made those. The foreman promised to hold my job because I can haul the most bags at once…I have almost a case hidden at home. It’s how he paid me when he couldn’t afford my wages. I can bring them, but only if you pass along my message and sketch to others out here. The more people willing to help my sister, the better.”

The boy appeared to think about it. Then he offered his hand, careful to tuck the ration bars into his pocket first.

Ash clasped the teen’s hand and shook. “My name is Ash.”

“I’m Theo,” the boy said, withdrawing.

It is him. Another confirmed Firehorse—alive and well. Ash hid his excitement, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything that might betray the storm of emotion roiling in his breast.

The boy glanced over his shoulder. None of his compatriots were in sight, but Ash knew they hadn’t gone far. He could feel their eyes on him. They were hiding behind the ruined cars, watching and waiting.

“Thank you,” he replied, his gratitude genuine. “I’m sleeping in that building over there while I search this area, but will move on in a couple of days.”

Theo nodded. “I’ll pass the word along, but you may want to rethink keeping that food on you. People around here kill for less.”

That was part of the plan, but Ash nodded anyway. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Later that night, Ash threw together a makeshift shelter in the corner of the empty ruin he’d pointed out to Theo and settled down to wait. After night fell, three people approached, climbing the stairs.

They are making enough of a racket to wake the dead.

It wasn’t the smooth operation it would have been under his command, but hey—humans. He suppressed a sigh and rolled over, giving his back to the trio.

At least they didn’t hesitate when they saw his vulnerable position. One of the men came at him with a piece of a broken pipe. A second carried a piece of timber. Ash could tell what their weapons were when they struck his body.

Covering his head with his hands, he rolled to see one man rear back to bring the pipe down on Ash’s shoulder. The other landed a lucky hit with his wooden bat. While a blow from a human was nowhere near as painful as one from a demon, the strikes still hurt. He fought to keep his warrior instincts from reacting, letting let them get two or three more good blows before spinning forward and putting his hands up.

Once on his feet, Ash feinted right and threw himself left, avoiding a hard blow that would have broken the ribs of a human. Reacting a beat slower than his inclination, he threw his gear pack at one of the attackers hard enough to make them lose their breath. The last man, who had stood by and watched throughout, snaked forward to grab the bag. Only it wasn’t a man at all. It was a little girl of about nine or ten. Hugging the pack to her skinny chest, she ran out of the room.

Damn it. If he wanted to pass as a desperate human, he needed to go after the bag, but what if the little girl hurt herself trying to get away from him? With a growl, Ash shrugged off another hit from the first attacker, whipping out his hand to knock the weapon out of the man’s grip. Then he rushed the second man, giving him a little shove to clear a path to the stairs.

Ash ran down two before intentionally tripping over his own feet. He cried out as he tumbled down the flight of stairs. A broken step at the bottom added the finishing touch, a jagged shard of wood impaling his side. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it bled—or at least it did once he shoved the six-inch splinter in hard enough to break his preternaturally tough skin.

Picking himself up with bloody hands, he limped across the floor, making it down into the open area in front of the building before collapsing.