Max woke slowly, awareness drifting back to him in soft layers instead of all at once.
First came warmth.
Then pressure.
Then the unmistakable realization that he was being pinned.
His remaining arm was trapped against his side. His legs were tangled. Something warm and feathery pressed against his back, while something solid, tense, and very determined was curled around his chest.
He cracked one eye open.
Charlie was half-sprawled across him, one leg hooked over his thigh, her wing draped protectively over his torso like a shield. Vaggie was pressed tight against his other side, one arm locked around his waist, her forehead resting against his shoulder with the kind of guarded intimacy that screamed I dare you to move.
They weren't just cuddling.
They were containing him.
He blinked a few times, letting the fog clear.
"…How drunk was I…?" he murmured hoarsely.
His throat was dry. His head throbbed dully—not pain, just the aftershock of deliberately shutting down resistances his body normally never let go of. He remembered the bar. Husk's drink. The laughter. The static hum of Alastor's voice.
Everything after that was a fuzzy void punctuated by vague impressions of warmth, softness, and apparently… over-sharing.
Max squeezed his eyes shut briefly.
Fantastic.
The alarm clock on the nightstand glowed dim red: five minutes until it would scream the room awake.
Charlie shifted slightly in her sleep, tightening her grip instinctively. Vaggie made a quiet sound—half a sigh, half a warning growl—without opening her eyes.
Max smiled despite himself.
They'd been doing this ever since he lost his arm. Sleeping lighter. Holding tighter. Subconsciously anchoring him in place like if they let go, something terrible might slip away.
He didn't want to wake them.
So he didn't move.
Instead, he let his body soften.
Shadow rolled gently off his skin like mist at dawn, silent and careful. His physical form dissolved into a puff of warm, smoky black vapor that slipped smoothly out from between their arms without disturbing them. A heartbeat later, he re-formed beside the bed, solid again, barefoot on the carpet.
He stretched carefully, testing balance.
"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Note to self: never turn off immunities without a spotter."
Charlie mumbled something incoherent and rolled onto Vaggie's shoulder, still asleep.
Max's expression softened.
"…Breakfast in bed," he decided quietly. "I owe them that much."
He crouched and reached into his shadow like someone rifling through an overstuffed grocery bag.
Fresh butter rolls appeared first, still warm, their tops glossy and golden. Then thick-cut bacon—crispy, fragrant. Sunny-side-up eggs with perfectly runny yolks. A thermos of Amazonian coffee blend, still steaming, rich and dark, brewed less than an hour ago in the human world where time still flowed normally for him.
He set everything carefully onto plates, the smell alone enough to make a demon reconsider violence.
As if on cue—
"Mmm…" Charlie murmured, eyes fluttering open. "That smells… unfairly good."
Vaggie's eyes snapped open instantly, sharp and alert. "Fresh?" she asked, already sitting up and reaching for a plate. "Human food quality hits different."
Max sat at the edge of the bed with his own plate, tail flicking lazily behind him. "Depends where you get it. Had to world-hop a bit. Worth it, though."
Charlie took a sip of coffee and hummed happily, eyes closing in bliss. "You better behave in Wrath today. I don't want you getting arrested."
"I won't," Max promised easily. "We're probably staying overnight at Millie's parents' place. I doubt they've got room for me, so I'll crash in the van. Or with Loona. Depends on her mood."
He leaned in and kissed Charlie's cheek, then Vaggie's—quick, gentle, familiar.
Vaggie smirked. "Someone's in a hurry."
"You two wake up the earliest," he said lightly. "Next is Octavia. Then Bee. Loona sleeps like the dead."
He winked. "Also, you were both clinging to me like your lives depended on it."
Charlie flushed. Vaggie scoffed.
Before either could respond, Max melted backward into the shadows and vanished.
Octavia's Room
Max rose soundlessly from the darkness at the foot of Octavia's bed.
Her room was dim, curtains drawn, the faint glow of star-shaped lights casting soft constellations across the ceiling. Octavia lay tangled in blankets, hair a mess, one arm thrown awkwardly over her head.
She looked peaceful. Rarely so.
Max set a plate of fresh bread on her nightstand.
Then, beside it, a small, enchanted cage appeared—clean, warm, and full of life.
A dozen healthy rats squeaked softly.
That did it.
Octavia stirred, groaning faintly. "…I hear… rats?" she muttered sleepily. "Max? Is that you?"
"Sorry," he chuckled. "Possibly immature. But Stolas mentioned you like them. I cleaned them properly. Didn't know your preference, so I got one from each human-world region."
She pushed herself upright, blinking.
"…You went rat shopping. Around the world."
Max shrugged modestly. "I'm thoughtful like that."
She stared at him for a long second—then smiled, slow and genuine.
"Thank you," she said softly. "And… sorry if that wasted your limited human-world time."
He sat beside her, tearing off a piece of bread. "I've got about twenty-four hours left. I assume Charlie or Vaggie told everyone."
Octavia nodded.
Max exhaled. "Probably gonna have to quit I.M.P. Blitz'll scream. Moxxie'll stress. Millie'll hug me. Life goes on."
She finished chewing, then patted the bed beside her. "Sit. For a second?"
He obeyed.
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
Max blinked. "Uh—this is my missing-arm side, so I can't—"
She froze.
"Oh—Max, I'm sorry, I totally forgot—!"
He laughed softly and pulled her in with his remaining arm. "It's fine. Come here."
She settled onto his lap, curling into his chest like it was the most natural place in the world.
"I just… need to cuddle," she whispered.
"You're probably the clingiest one in the group," he teased gently. "You and Loona both have abandonment issues. She hides hers. You don't."
"I don't see the point," Octavia muttered. "You listen. Even my dad doesn't anymore."
Max took her hand.
"I promise you'll be safe," he said quietly. "You'll have your father. It won't be easy. Angels, politics, Goetia nonsense… but I'm here."
She stared down. "…Don't make promises you can't keep."
He lifted her hand, showing her the ring.
"This is a promise I made too. To you. To protect you. Forever."
Her throat bobbed as he kissed her forehead.
"…You should go," she whispered. "Wrath's waiting."
He smiled. "Tell me which rat's your favorite. I'll restock."
Shadows lifted her gently back onto the bed as he faded away.
Octavia lay there, staring at the ceiling.
And for once—
She smiled.