**Chapter 7: A Moment's Peace**
The year was 1888, and the gaslit streets of Eden shimmered under a veil of coal smoke and mist. Horse-drawn carriages clattered over cobblestones, their lanterns casting fractured halos on the fog. Marverick moved through the crowd, his top hat shadowing eyes that scanned not for pickpockets, but for the flicker of wings or the glint of talons. Eden's grandeur hid festering wounds—its opulent theaters and brass-clad clock towers stood shoulder-to-shoulder with crumbling tenements where shadows writhed a little too hungrily.
Ava waited in *The Gilded Sparrow*, a café tucked into a vine-choked alley where the aroma of Earl Grey battled the stench of the nearby slaughterhouses. She'd traded her battle-worn leathers for a burgundy velvet gown, her auburn curls pinned beneath a hat adorned with raven feathers. A lace parasol leaned against her chair, its handle concealing a slender silver blade. When Marverick slid into the seat across from her, she arched a brow, her lips curving in a smirk that softened the wariness in her emerald eyes.
"Fashionably late," she remarked, stirring honey into her tea. "Lose another argument with a demon?"
"Traffic," he lied, loosening his cravat. "The new omnibus routes are hell."
They'd struck a fragile pact: one afternoon untouched by prophecies or bloodshed. The Elysium Stone's weight still hung between them, tucked in a lead-lined satchel beneath the table, but here, amid clinking china and the murmur of silk-clad socialites, they let the world pretend it was whole.
Ava sipped her tea, pinky extended in mock refinement. "I've decided to become a botanist," she announced. "Specializing in roses. The thornier, the better."
Marverick snorted. "You'd poison them."
"Only the ones that misbehave." Her foot brushed his under the table, a spark beneath the layers of petticoats and propriety.
The game unfolded. She spun tales of garden parties and parasol duels, inventing a suitor who'd challenged her to a waltz-off at the Eden Opera House. Marverick played along, weaving a life as a disgraced aristocrat turned inventor of "clockwork novelties." They laughed—too loud, too sharp—their fiction a fragile shield against the truth.
But Eden's rot seeped in. A waiter dropped a tray, the crash of porcelain snapping Ava's hand to her parasol. Marverick's gaze darted to the window, where fog coiled like a living thing.
"Breathe," he murmured, covering her trembling fingers with his. Her pulse thrummed against his palm, a staccato beat of war drums.
She exhaled, shoulders slumping. "This city's a gilded cage."
They wandered the riverside promenade at dusk, the Thames choked with factory runoff, its surface iridescent with oil. Ava's arm looped through his, her head resting against his shoulder as gas lamps flickered to life. For a stolen hour, they were ghosts—no chosen ones, no harbingers, just two souls adrift in the machine-age glow.
"We could run," she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. "Take the Stone and vanish into the Highlands. Raise sheep. Forget heaven and hell."
Marverick stopped, turning her to face him. The lamplight caught the silver scar along her jaw—a relic of their last skirmish with Azazel's horde. "You'd miss the fight."
Her smile frayed. "I'd miss *you* more."
He kissed her then, slow and deep, the taste of bergamot and desperation on her tongue. The world narrowed to the press of her body against his, the sigh that escaped her when his fingers tangled in her hair. For a heartbeat, the apocalypse held its breath.
A scream shattered the illusion.
They broke apart, breath ragged, to see a woman staggering from an alley. Her corset was torn, eyes wide as she clawed at her throat. Black veins pulsed beneath her skin, spreading like ink in water.
"*Infested*," Ava hissed, snapping her parasol open. The blade slid free with a whisper of steel.
Marverick cursed, shrugging off his coat. The fabric tore as wings of golden light erupted from his shoulders—the Elysium Stone's power surging through him, volatile and bright. The woman collapsed, her body convulsing as something *rippled* beneath her ribs.
With a wet crack, a serpentine tail burst from her abdomen, scales glistening with mucus. The demon uncoiled, its human face peeling back to reveal a maw of needle teeth.
"So much for roses," Ava muttered, flipping her blade.
Marverick's wings blazed. "Left flank. I'll take the fangs."
They moved in tandem, their bond a silent symphony of strikes and parries. But as the demon fell, its death rattle echoed through the streets—a beacon. Shadows pooled in doorways, amber eyes blinking open in the gloom.
Eden awoke hungry.
Ava wiped ichor from her cheek, her gown torn and smeared with gore. "Tea time's over, darling."
Marverick flexed his luminous wings, their light reflecting in her determined gaze. "Back to saving the world."
Somewhere above, a clock tower chimed midnight. The hunt began anew.