Cael

The rain came suddenly — sharp, silver needles slicing through the night. She was walking home alone, her coat soaked through, her breath fogging in the cold. The streetlights flickered, and the world felt like it was holding its breath. Then came the screech of tires. A car spun out of control, headlights blinding, metal screaming toward her. She didn’t have time to scream. But something did. A flash — not of light, but of presence. The air rippled. Time slowed. And then she was no longer on the pavement, but in someone’s arms, pressed against a chest that radiated warmth and something… otherworldly. She looked up. He was beautiful in a way that defied logic — tall, drenched in rain that didn’t seem to touch him, eyes like galaxies trying to remember how to shine. His wings, vast and trembling, shimmered behind him, half-folded and flickering like they weren’t supposed to be seen.