"It's what?"

Amenadiel winces, and his mouth draws a tight line.

"It's gone," he repeats, slowly. "Someone took it. Right out from under Zadkiel's nose."

Lucifer scoffs; a cross, petulant huff and drapes an arm across the back of the couch. "Don't be ridiculous," he laughs, eyebrows high in a show of incredulity. "Gandalf's been clinging to his wood for millennia. He won't even take his hands off that stick long enough to rub his own ."

His lips curve in a mischievous grin and he looks proudly to Chloe, waiting for her chortle of approval. But she's only staring at Amenadiel, her palm settled across her stomach as the heat of her scar simmers and roils with the staff's mention.

When Amenadiel looks at him, squinting in veiled disapproval, Lucifer sighs and throws up his hands. "Well, I don't know," he says, "Are we sure he hasn't simply misplaced it? Heaven is quite large, after all, and he's never been the brightest bulb—"

"That's just it, Luci." Amenadiel surges forward, dropping down onto the couch beside Lucifer and fixing him with a pointed stare. "The staff isn't in Heaven. It was stolen here. On Earth."

For the second time, a hesitant silence dangles over the room. The smile dies on Lucifer's face and he leans forward, drawing his broad shoulders in and clasping his hands to his lap. Amenadiel continues, encouraged by the arched expectancy on his brother's face.

"Zadkiel, he…he stayed, for a while. After the fight. He said he was just going to keep an eye on Michael, to make sure he was staying out of trouble."

"Oh, did he? Well, please tell him what a wonderful job he did on that front." Lucifer's eyes are blazing, and his voice is dripping with unrestrained derision as he flashes a humorless smile. Chloe's eyes flit to where he sits, bristling and suddenly miles apart.

"Lucifer," she whispers, and he whips to face her, his gaze relaxing at the sight of her burrowed in the crook of the couch. He relents, blinking long and slow to shake the thought of Michael's intrusion from his mind.

"Michael was here?" Amenadiel's eyes narrow. He swallows the question on his tongue — one thing at a time.

"Listen to me, Luci," he persists, "Zadkiel was only here for one night. He says he kept an eye on Michael for a while, made sure he hadn't tried to contact any of our siblings. And then…" he pauses, trailing off with pained uncertainty.

"And then what?"

"Well," Amenadiel shifts slightly, bouncing his gaze from Lucifer, to Chloe, then back to Lucifer again. They're both fixing him with the same impatient stare, eyes sharp and smoldering despite the tangled hair and wrinkled clothes and the blossoming marks of red on Chloe's neck where Lucifer had nipped at the sensitive skin only minutes before. "Then he came here. To Lux."

"He was here?" This time it's Chloe's turn to speak, sliding against the firm leather and crossing her legs against the edge of the sofa. "We didn't see him. At least, I didn't—" she looks expectantly to Lucifer, who shakes his head.

"Not here," Amenadiel clarifies, dreading the next words. "Downstairs. At the nightclub. That's, uh…well, that's the last place he saw the staff. He was, um—he was showing it off, he said, to a group of human women."

Chloe can hear the next words out of Lucifer's mouth before he can even say them.

"How vile," he chimes. "Nothing like a bit of unsolicited staff-waving to ruin girl's night out."

Chloe purses her lips; it's not a homicide, and she's not even a detective any more, not officially, but it's hard to kick the instinct. "You think one of the girls he was with stole it? Why would they even do that?"

"Mm, good question, Detective. Yes, what's the motive?" Lucifer nods in earnest and turns his gaze to Amenadiel with modest intrigue and boyish curiosity: he's transported suddenly to his spot beside Chloe in the precinct's interrogation room.

"Why on earth would a gaggle of unsatisfied women make off with a slab of wood? To spite him? Far be it from me to deny the Angel of Righteousness a night of debauchery. But, really, I find it hard to believe that a drunken woman in six inch heels— or even a pack of them — could make it out the door with a five foot long magical stick in their clutch."

"That's just it, brother. None of them stole it. He passed out on the couch downstairs. When he woke up yesterday morning, still in the club, every single one was still there with him, sound asleep. There wasn't a woman unaccounted for that he had been talking to that night — and not a single one had seen the staff."

Lucifer pauses, the smirk that had begun to crawl across his face seeping back into a slight frown. "And where's Merlin now?"

"Hiding, up in Heaven. He's terrified, Luci."

"Terrified? A bit dramatic, don't you think? A celestial object, loose in the human world? He's not the first to spilled the beans there. Besides — it's not the Blade. Whoever stole it, whatever lucky clubgoer seized a snoring man's wizardy staff; it's not likely to send them into a murderous rage. Let's just have Gabriel pop down and find it, and we can reunite Paul Bunyan with his tree before he gives himself a hernia." He flashes a smug smile towards Chloe. "See? Problem solved. Case closed. I suppose you can go, so we can all return to our previous engagements."

"Lucifer." The nervous shift in Amenadiel's voice is gone, and he addresses his brother firmly, void of the blasé amusement that plays across Lucifer's mouth and upturns his lips. His gaze is dark and rigid, and teeming with a twinge of sympathy. "You don't get it, do you? You can't see it."

"Can't see what, brother," he sighs, writhing in irritation and mounting impatience. He's moved imperceptibly closer to Chloe with each passing moment of Amenadiel's tale, and he now sits mere inches from her side. His hand, soft and cool and steady, comes to rest lightly against her thigh, and she responds involuntarily to his touch, folding closer to him as his pinky teases the hem of her shirt.

"Zadkiel didn't go to Lux for the fun of it, Luci." Amenadiel says, a flash of annoyance in his voice. "He went because he was ashamed. Because he wanted to forget. Why do you think he's hiding? Now, from you? He's terrified, yes, but it's the shame that drove him here in the first place, that's eating him alive in Heaven as we speak."

Chloe's eyes narrow, and there's that detective voice again, firm and no-nonsense and demanding answers with its cool insistence. "Ashamed? What could he possibly have to be ashamed of? I thought he was the Angel of Righteousness. Sort of the opposite of shameful."

"Zadkiel was charged with possession of that staff millennia ago." Amenadiel's voice is low. "The last remnant of the Tree of Life. And two days ago…" he trails off with sudden uncertainty, as if seeing — truly seeing — Chloe for the first time. Lucifer notices the sudden change in look and pulls her toward him protectively, instinctively, wrapping a firm hand around the back of her waist.

"The Tree of Life was the center of the Garden of Eden. The original font of good and evil, the ultimate test of purity."

Lucifer is scowling. "I'm familiar with the bloody thing," he mutters.

"It's no coincidence Father entrusted that staff to Zadkiel. His most righteous son, charged with Heaven's purest artifact." Amenadiel musters up the courage this time, faces Chloe with a clouded gaze.

"Two days ago, Michael used that staff for the one thing that defies its very existence — to murder. And not just that, but to kill a human — to murder God's most beloved creation. Your death, Chloe, was a cardinal sin against Heaven, with or without Father in charge."

She swallows. She's aware of two sets of eyes on her: Amenadiel's, soft and probing and teeming with sympathetic concern and Lucifer's, dark and storming and brimming with pain as the memory rears its ugly head and flashes before him.

Chloe breaks the silence; breaks the uneasy tension of the stares fixed upon her.

"What does that mean?" She asks, her voice quiet. "A—a cardinal sin against Heaven. What is that?"

Lucifer isn't smiling now. There's no mocking parry on his lips, no lazy jab to toss in his brother's way. Whatever the two of them are thinking, they're finally on the same page — the bemusement at Zadkiel's misfortune has vanished from Lucifer's face and he suddenly looks ashen as the brothers exchange a knowing look.

Amenadiel is the first to answer her. Lucifer is staring straight ahead as the gravity of the situation settles onto his shoulders, and he stares at the floor with knitted brows.

"It was like a myth, growing up," he explains, "It was one of the only stories Father ever told us all. Father created that tree to exist in the center of Paradise. The key to eternal life. A symbol of purity. He always said, should it ever be used for evil — it would be the ultimate sign."

"Sign?"

"That we've failed," he says, simply and matter-of-factly. "If the one relic of true Paradise can be sullied, can be made impure, then we're no longer worthy. We've failed his ultimate test of creation."

"It's the universe's largest red button," Lucifer says, standing suddenly and pacing the length of the room like a caged tiger. "A parting gift from dear old Dad, set to self-destruct. The ultimate irony. The universe's purest beacon of light, set to become its greatest weapon once made impure. Set to wipe us all out and clean the slate, once and for all. And now someone—" he breathes in a shaky breath — "has stolen it. A coincidence?"

Amenadiel shakes his head, solemnly.

"No," Lucifer whispers, "I don't think so." His eyes snap up once more and land on Chloe, staring at him with wide eyes and determined resolve, and his mind drifts to Dan, alone and lost and tortured, doomed to a lifetime of nothing — no reform, no salvation — just nothing — if The Tree of Life indeed fills its deadly promise. He thinks of her, of their life together reduced to ashes on the wind, gone in the blink of an eye. When he speaks again his eyes are furnished with steely resolve.

"Detective," he says, fixing her with a gaze dark and lean and full of promises unsaid. "It appears we have a case."