Tell me everything, she said. Lucifer paused, uncertainty passing over his face. Chloe waited to see what he'd do. Rather than guess at what she meant, he asked.

"Where should I start, Detective?" He had already slipped into his more normal bantering tone, responding to the fondness in her expression rather than her lingering anger. "There is quite a lot of history to go through."

She tapped her nails against her wine glass. The quiet tinkling settled between them as she considered her options. She could ask him anything right now, but they were in public and she was enough of a latent celebrity that she didn't want a camera phone picture of her punching LA's most lusted-after club owner square in the jaw popping up on any websites. Best to steer clear of any big revelations and avoid her temper getting the better of her again.

She nodded to herself, a slight tilt of her chin, and met his eyes. Linda had slept with him, and she wasn't afraid of him. Chloe could be unafraid too. He'd given her a case; she decided to work it.

"Someone tried to kill you?"

The Devil, the actual Devil, leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. How old was he? How many historical figures had he met? Had he been watching Chloe for years? Had this all been a decades-long plan to worm his way into her life? He presented himself as impulsive, immature, and terribly insecure. Was any of that real? Would –

Lucifer burst into her piling questions with a truncated retelling of his last twenty-four hours. He told her about "Mariana" approaching him in LUX, her request for help in Spanish, her efficient attempt on his life. He told her about calling Ella for help at an absurd hour of the morning and her inspection of his penthouse. He complained again about having to dirty his fingers with ink. That would apparently be a sticking point for him. Chloe wondered if he was planning some kind of practical joke revenge on Ella, which triggered spiraling thoughts of his antics at work: eating Dan's pudding just to annoy him; bringing snacks and coffee regularly to her coworkers with casual, friendly banter; fighting with the vending machine for cool ranch puffs and tiny doughnuts. Had he really ruled Hell? This guy? He couldn't even fend off the hugs of a small girl.

Lucifer was still talking, and she was mostly listening, but she was watching him too. He was gesturing along with his story and watching her carefully. He never leaned closer to her. He never offered to refill her empty wineglass, which would have brought his hands within reach. He was carefully animated. Restrained.

He was trying not to scare her.

Again, Chloe thought of his gentleness with her daughter. These memories mingled with that picture of him, alone and burned in the desert, to cause a flutter of hurt in her. She was a parent; his Father was, by Lucifer's own account, God. She'd always heard God was all-knowing and all-seeing. God had watched His son be taken, dumped in a desert, and left alone. God had watched Lucifer's skin burn and peel away into red welts. Chloe thought of Trixie, lying alone and baking to death in the desert. Her stomach churned with anxiety and wine.

For a delirious moment, she was grateful Dan was Trixie's father instead of someone like God. Dan would never choose to leave his child baking to death.

"You said there was another murder?" Chloe forced herself to focus exclusively on Lucifer's present again, ripping herself from her own head.

"Miss Lopez found a three-year-old cartel job," Lucifer said. Chloe's hands stilled their nervous tap-tapping against her wine glass.

"A cartel hit," she said, torn between a question and declaration.

"Indeed," he said. He drummed his fingers on the table, once, then sighed. "Terribly boring, I know, but the ballistics-"

"A cartel tried to kill you?"

Lucifer wasn't following her sudden extreme concern. She remembered his total bafflement when she'd been worried about a gang war in the past. Surely a man who ingested as many drugs as he did had some idea of where they came from.

A man like him…

"Do they go to Hell?" she asked, unable to stop herself. The wine was loosening her lips in a way that was probably a bad idea. She really should focus on his attempted murder, but he was also the actual real-life Devil and she had quite a few questions.

"Who?" Lucifer's tone was cautious, quiet. He was treating her like a rabbit ready to bolt. She hated it.

"Cartel members," she said. "Drug dealers, murderers."

He didn't like this topic. She could tell by how he watched the wine bottle on the table, as though he could will the bottle into distracting her by jumping up and dancing across the table. She wondered if he could actually move objects like that. She waited to see how he'd dodge the question.

"Some," he hedged. "I'm not sure it's relevant to, to this."

Oh no, he did not like this topic one bit. His face fell into a nervous sort of sadness when she hit too close to something he preferred not to discuss. His gestures calmed down, and a type of stillness washed over him. She knew the signs. She decided not to push. He'd given her a case.

"Ok, so a cartel might be targeting you. Any ideas why?"

He scoffed.

"Many of them owe me, you know," he said with a scowl. "One would think they'd appreciate my unwillingness to give every one of their names to the LAPD."

She rolled her eyes and he beamed at her. He'd never threatened her for her constant impertinence, for bossing him around, for telling him to shut up or stay or any of the other dozens of orders she threw at him on a daily basis. The King of Hell looked more like a scolded puppy than the wicked bringer of the end times when she told him off.

It explained other habits of his, though. He was terrible at following directions. He often made brash decisions which put her on the back foot, always running to catch up with his latest impulsive decision. A king would be used to doing what he wanted, when he wanted, and not thinking of the consequences for others around him - or expecting any consequences to be cleaned up for him.

His relationship with Maze suddenly snapped into focus. If Maze was a demon, then he was her king. Their relationship had shifted over time, but there was always a level of deference in Maze, and Lucifer issued her commands without thought, expecting immediate obedience.

He never did that to Chloe. He teased her, annoyed her, disobeyed her, and pissed her off. But he never expected her to follow his lead. He complained about her stubbornness with annoyed respect. The fact that Lucifer, former King of Hell and Actual son of God, listened to her at all, followed her lead, waited for her agreement – these were all signs of his regard for her. He respected her intelligence and her instincts. Or at least he claimed to.

His phone chimed with a text message. He reached into his jacket, wholly unable to ignore the device no matter what the conversation was about, and checked the message. His face fell until he glanced her way, then slid his mask back into place with a smooth smile. He set the phone on the table next to his still empty plate, and looked at Chloe.

"Now then! According to Miss Lopez, the little vixen who tried to ruin the sex lives of many a devotee might be someone called 'La Tunda,' which is a terribly troubling reference to – Detective?"

Chloe looked at the phone.

"Who was it?"

Lucifer glanced down at the device and waved a hand, producing a tight little huff of laughter.

"Miss Lopez, presenting me with a problem for another day."

"Lucifer," Chloe said. She looked at him. He sighed and handed the phone over for her to read the text.

She read the message and laughed. His face pinched with offense. He reached out to snatch the phone back.

"I'm so glad you're amused by Miss Lopez's existential crisis," he huffed, and Chloe laughed harder. His scowl dropped away into mild confusion. He glanced at the screen to make sure the message was the same as before.

"What?" he finally demanded. "Share with the class."

Chloe heard his tension and calmed herself as much as she could. She cleared her throat, smiling at him, and nearly lost herself to another laughing fit at the sheer befuddlement on his face. She cleared her throat again and pointed at the phone.

"She's got you pegged," Chloe said. She watched Lucifer make a mighty effort not to crack a joke. "A direct yes or no question."

Another of his weaknesses, although his continued confusion made his own ignorance of that fact clear. Linda had threatened to drop him as a client; Chloe had threatened to end their partnership. Ella went right for the simple binary, which he couldn't squirm out of without giving some hint of which answer was correct. Lucifer might be some ancient being of untold power, but the human women of his life knew how to get exactly what they wanted from him when they needed to.

"So, how will you respond?" Chloe was still smiling. Her irritation at him bled away the longer he continued to be himself – ridiculous, socially naïve, and often baffled by humanity's many quirks. She wondered what humans seemed like to him, who had been alive before the planet even existed.

"I believe this is a conversation that should happen in person," he said, somewhat miserably. Chloe knew this was a big night for him: first her own confrontation, leading to a somewhat awkward conversation as they began the work back toward a new normal. Then Ella, with her keen observations and inability to sit on a sudden realization. Chloe couldn't count the number of times she'd received a 2 AM text message from the forensic scientist with an informed theory or pertinent clue. Now Ella had pieced together Lucifer's identity, and of course her first action was to text the man himself for confirmation.

Lucifer's resigned sigh cut into her thoughts. He was replying to the message, his face grim. Chloe raised her eyebrows. Lucifer looked very much like he was about to walk the plank.

He set the phone down with the screen against the tabletop. The phone buzzed three times, then stilled. He made a valiant effort to fix all his attention back on Chloe. She glanced at his phone, and he gave in. He snapped the device up, read the replies, and cleared his throat again.

"Detective, I'm terribly sorry," he said. He pushed back from the table, giving her a sad smile as he rose to his feet. "I believe I must take care of this right away."

This being whatever Ella's reply had been. Chloe stood along with him. He paused, tugging at his sleeves and straightening his jacket.

"I'm coming with you," Chloe said. Lucifer scoffed.

"I assure you, Detective-"

"No," Chloe said. He stood with his mouth open, uncertain of what to say. She pointed at him.

"You're my partner. I'm coming with you."

Lucifer clapped his mouth shut. He drew to his full height, bewildered but unwilling to risk this apparent truce with clumsy words.

"Besides, you're my ride home," Chloe said. His bewilderment melted into a tender smile.

"Of course, Detective," he said. "I am your willing chauffeur."

He tossed a wad of cash on the table, likely covering the meals of everyone eating in the restaurant tonight, and followed Chloe as she made her way to the door.


Cain was disappointed.

When he'd reached out to his network to resolve a discrete matter, he conveyed both the urgency of the situation and the very specific requirements to fulfill the contract. The Ruiz empire had answered the call, even cutting him a deal once they realized who the target was, taking this as an opportunity to send a message to Detective Decker for daring to try and take them down. He lended them one of his Los Angeles buildings with plenty of storage rooms for their use, some full of priceless smuggled artifacts waiting for processing. He'd counted on their need for vengeance to ensure Lucifer was killed. It was a perfect hit, with a perfect cover. He'd never be suspected.

He now knew that they'd only taken him at part of his word. He knew of La Tunda through reputation; he knew her success rate. They'd taken his warnings about the target's ability to talk his way out of bad situations seriously if they'd sent their most effective killer.

But they either hadn't believed him about Chloe's presence being essential as well, or they hadn't relayed that information to their contract killer. Whatever the cause, a crucial element of their agreement remained unfulfilled.

They had at least satisfied his second request. The former angel Amenadiel, God's firstborn and millennia-long enforcer, was somewhere in this building, right this moment, stewing in his own thoughts. Cain hoped his thoughts were painful. He hoped they burned. He would let the former angel sit in captivity for as long as he could. Let Amenadiel know what it was like to be at someone else's mercy for a while.

Cain was trailing behind one of the Ruiz's men, two of his own following his heels. The man hadn't said much when Cain asked after their prisoner. Cain was more interested in his newest acquisition, anyway.

"I want to see her," Cain said. The man laughed and fluttered one hand in front of him.

"Yes, I'm sure you do," he said with a chuckle. "You all do."

He led them down a corridor, heading toward the storage rooms toward the back of the building.

"A pleasure to meet you, Sinnerman," he tossed over his shoulder.

"You have a name?" Cain asked. The man he was following shrugged.

"Guzmán," he said. It only might be his real name. Cain didn't need to know either way. Guzmán led him to a dusty storage room. Boxes lined the walls and parts of the floor, making the space feel cramped. Some of the boxes were still open, the tops of paintings and other artwork peeking out like fossils barely exposed to the sun. This room contained an incredible wealth of artifacts from across cultures and time periods. Not one of them was legally obtained.

Guzmán raised one finger at Cain, quietly asking him to stay in place, and called into the room.

"Tundita," he crooned. "Ven." Come here.

Cain watched as a woman rose from behind the furthest boxes, her expression blank. He started to wonder what she'd been doing. Her fingers twitched as she approached them. Whatever she thought of this encounter wasn't present in her expression. As she approached them, she showed neither fear nor trepidation. She raised her eyebrows at Cain in mild curiosity, then looked to Guzmán for her next instruction.

"Bien," her apparent handler said. Good.

Cain considered the woman before him with a critical eye. She was smaller than Lopez by several inches, the very definition of "compact." Her features were round, from her face to her eyes to the gentle curves of her body, and she peered up at him with a nearly serene detachment.

Her fingers were no longer twitching. Nothing gave her inner thoughts away, not even the flicker of an eyelid when Guzmán reached forward and cupped one side of her face. He turned her head with a gentle push and then dropped his hand, giving Cain a side view of her profile. She blinked, and otherwise remained still.

"La Tunda, right?" Cain stood ramrod straight, arms crossed, muscles bulging. She was smaller than half his frame.

She turned her face forward, meeting his eyes. Her feet were braced slightly apart. She kept her eyes on his.

"Yes," she said. "Hello, Sinnerman." Her accent was somewhat hard to place – Peru? – but she spoke clear English.

"Right." Cain glanced at the two men standing behind him. Her handler was smirking at her. Cain's men watched him for hand-signaled commands.

Cain looked at Guzmán, whose smirk shifted into a sneer.

"Lucifer Morningstar is still alive," Guzmán said. She turned her head to look at him, a puff of irritation flickering for an instant.

"I am still," she began. Guzmán stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder. She huffed a slight gasp of breath, her only sign that the grip was painful. He shook her once, forcing her to release a tight-lipped hm. She clenched her jaw and turned her head forward again. Her hands moved behind her back, likely clasped together to restrain her own movements. Cain was impressed. She was a well-trained dog.

"I've made a new deal," he said. She looked up to meet his eyes again. She shook her head once, sucked in a breath as Guzmán tightened his grip. She unclasped her fingers and brought them forward.

"No trates," her handler hissed at her. Don't try it. She dropped her eyes. Her fingers curved at her sides. Guzmán shifted his grip on her shoulder into a looser hold. She glanced at Cain. He knew he looked impassive, uncaring. She looked back down.

"What do you know about me?" Cain meant the question as a simple test to see how much she might already know. He raised his eyebrows when her gaze darted to her handler, once, before fixing on him again. She looked at his right bicep next, covered by his sleeve. She swallowed.

Interesting.

"Answer him, Tundita" Guzmán said. She closed her eyes at that, just slow enough that Cain saw the flash of irritation she was trying to hide. She must hate this man deeply, to have that flash of emotion escape her careful façade.

"A new deal," Cain repeated, "which included an outright purchase."

She met his eyes again, her own carefully blank. He lifted the index and thumb of his right hand from his bicep. He pinched the ends of both fingers together, then smoothed them flat on his arm again. Behind him his men straightened. The tension of restrained violence permeated the room. There were a lot of ways a deal like this could go terribly wrong; Cain was prepared for her to run.

Her handler was enjoying the moment, though. His glee fluttered in the air around them as he made a small show of pushing her, ever so slightly, in Cain's direction. Cain wondered what she was thinking, in this moment. Was she relieved that she might be free soon? Or did she fear what would surely be a fresh hell?

She remained silent, unwilling or unable to protest.

Thousands of years ago, his empathy might have burned for her. He might have felt a twinge of regret, might have even shown mercy and freed her the moment the deal was struck. Now, he waited as Guzmán explained that she now belonged to the Sinnerman's network, and therefore the Sinnerman himself. The offer itself had been an even exchange of favors between the Sinnerman and Ruiz empires: they gift him with one of their most effective killers, and he does them the favor of forgetting their initial blunder of his instructions. Cain knew his power, and he knew how to bludgeon. Buried beneath his offer was the tacit knowledge that his "forgetfulness" included not using his own network to finish what Detective Decker started months ago to annihilate the Ruiz family's tequila, drug, and human trafficking branches.

The entire transaction had taken less than ten minutes from Cain's stern offer to the Ruiz empire's acceptance. Less than ten minutes to own a human being. Cain remembered a time when it took a mere moment. In many terrible places the world over, it still did.

Now he held this deadly instrument in his ever-growing network. She appeared lax, her arms loosely draped at her sides. Her eyes met his with unwavering apathy. Whomever she had been in the past was gone. Now, only a quiet shell watched him, waiting for orders from her new owner. Did she even care who held her leash at this point?

Cain traded in loyalty and trust with his closest assets. He'd raised many of them from childhood or contributed to their lives as a committed mentor figure. Every one of his soldiers who knew him by his current name would die or kill for the man they thought of as a father figure.

He needed her to trust him, too – to owe him a debt deeper than finances, stronger than blood. The bond of an adopted family had served him well for centuries. He expected it to work again.

"Do you remember your name?" He kept his arms folded. She looked at the doorway, just beyond him, and he wondered if she would try to escape. The other three men witnessing this exchange shuffled in the quiet that followed his question. She looked up, eyes flicking between the two men flanking Cain. She settled.

"Tundita works fine, if you'll respond to it," he said. She watched him. It would have to do. He decided to take the plunge now.

"You know me; let me tell you what I know about you."

She looked bored, save for that steadfast stare. This conversation was too important for her to ignore.

"The Ruiz family funds a program called 'Nuevos Días.' The program works with orphaned siblings and works to keep them together throughout their time in the system."

At the program's name, her eyes dropped to the floor. He could see her jaw muscles clenching.

"It's a front," Cain said. "The kids aren't always orphans. They're sold in. The oldest is taken and trained. They're told that if they disobey, the younger ones will suffer. They're sometimes shown pictures of their siblings as a reminder. They're told if they fail, they'll all die, but the oldest will watch the younger ones die first."

The apathy was gone. She was struggling not to react. She kept her head down and her fingers curled. He continued.

"You watched your little brother grow up on Polaroids. Is that right?"

She nodded at the ground. None of this was a shocking secret amongst the assembled company. Guzmán may have been the very person she was sold to.

"There's something you should know, Tundita," Cain said. She was listening, even if she wasn't looking at him anymore. "They tell you your little brother will die if you refuse their orders. They've told you that for eleven years."

The sense of impending violence increased as he spoke. The woman - Tundita - was completely still, the very image of docile - but something howled beneath her skin. He was ripping old wounds down to the bone, forcing them into the dusty air. Guzmán had begun to realize where these statements might be going. He seemed to consider the door, possibly contemplating pushing past Cain and his men. Cain ignored him. His men could handle it if needed. He needed to focus. It was important that he be earnest in this moment. She needed to believe him.

"They've been showing you pictures of someone else, Tundita," he said. "Your brother died of pneumonia six years ago. In a hospital in Bogotá."

He spoke the words gently and paused to see her reaction. Her hands had clenched into tight balls against either side of her waist. Her outward signs of stress trembled in the air between them. She might believe him, but she needed an outlet for her shivering rage.

"I can't give you back your brother," Cain said. He shifted to uncross his arms, reached behind his back, and pulled a Remington R51 from his waist. He offered the gun to her grip first, fingers wrapped around the barrel. Guzmán scoffed to her left.

"There's no one for her to kill here, Sinnerman," he said with a tightly amused smirk.

"Go on," Cain said, ignoring her former handler. She looked up at Guzmán's tone, fixating on the weapon. She licked her lips. Her eyes were wild.

"Take it," Cain said. She stretched out a hand and wrapped her fingers around the grip, reflexes easily guiding their placement into the correct positions.

"Deal gone wrong," he said to her. For her. "I'll swear to it." And then she would begin to trust him.

"Ah-" Guzmán shook his head and started for the door. The three men barricading him in didn't move.

Cain released the barrel then, relinquishing control of the weapon. Trust was earned, not given.

Tundita ejected the clip and checked the number of rounds, then slid it back into place. She flicked the safety off. She turned those wild eyes to Guzmán, the physical representation of the life she'd been sold into. Of those who'd sold and bought her, who'd taken her brother from her. Who'd lied to her.

She raised the gun. Her hand was steady. Guzmán's face drained of any vestiges of humor. He raised his hands slowly as she watched, index finger loose against the trigger. His eyes were fixed on the gun in her hand.

"Don't be like that," she said to him. "Look me in the eyes."

Her tone made the words sound like a faded reflection drawn from a memory. Whatever she was referencing, Guzmán opened his mouth to say something.

She fired without flinching. Four in the torso, ripping three holes in Guzmán's sternum and one shoulder. He fell back, his body twitching, and the barrel followed him down. Three more in the head. She stopped pulling the trigger after the seventh round. The magazine was empty, and she was, after all, trained.

Gunsmoke wavered in the air around them. The smell of burned flesh hit Cain right after the scent of discharged gunpowder. They stood together, three men and one woman, all watching blood seep from the body across the floor. The edge of the puddle reached the nearest box and began to soak into the wood. The stain spread slowly, a grisly ink blot across the pale beige surface. Cain sighed.

"That box will need to be replaced," he said.


The drive to Ella's place was punctuated by two dinging notifications from Lucifer's phone which he pointedly ignored. Chloe looked between the passing buildings and Lucifer's profile, amusing herself by quietly critiquing the Devil's driving skills.

Blinkers are for passing. Yellow means yield, not speed up. Do you even see the other cars on the road? Pedestrians have the right of way. Speed limits are not suggestions.

The night was warm and the Corvette's top was down. Wind rushed over them as he wove among traffic. As a child, Chloe liked holding her hand outside of a window, palm flat, and tilting her fingers up and down against the rushing air. Trixie did the same now on longer trips. Did he keep the top down because he liked the feel of rushing air?

"Is this what flying is like?" she asked.

Lucifer drummed the fingers of one hand against the wheel. He knew what she was doing, it was obvious enough, but his anxiety was filling even the open space of the car.

"A bit," he allowed, giving in to her attempt to distract him from his ever-increasing nerves. "Certainly more fun than skydiving."

"What about paragliding?" Chloe asked. He shuddered theatrically and pursed his lips.

"Certainly not," he said. "I am not a Pteromyini."

"Of course you'd know the Latin name," Chloe said, rolling her eyes. And then, of course, more questions popped into her head. There wasn't any danger of being overheard by other diners in the Corvette. Chloe considered her options.

"Do you really speak every language?"

Lucifer glanced her way, surprise and a splash of childlike hope giving him a bright expression.

"I've yet to find one I didn't," he said. "It's imperative that I be able to communicate with anyone."

The end of the statement faltered. He'd meant to keep going but had stopped himself from finishing the thought. Chloe followed the logic easily: the Devil needed to speak every language because it was necessary for the job of torturing souls from across cultures, countries, and eras.

She shivered.

"Are you cold, Detective?" He began fussing with the Corvette's controls, apparently intending to put the top up while the car was in motion. Lucifer's hyper-awareness of her comfort level activated at the strangest moments. Sometimes she felt as though she was screaming into a bullhorn and he couldn't hear a word. Other times, like now, he could stand to be a little less attentive.

"No, I'm fine, Lucifer," she said. He stopped fiddling and moved his hand back to the wheel. Another notification pinged. He flinched and tried to cover it with a sniff.

"Give me your phone," Chloe said. She held out her hand.

"My my, Detective! But aren't both hands supposed to be on the wheel? Safety first." His teasing tone was laced with a version of the fear he'd had during their dinner. No matter how relaxed he tried to appear, he was worried about the impending confrontation with Ella. Rather than argue, Chloe reached into her purse for her own phone. She sent a text to Ella, letting the forensic scientist know that she was coming with Lucifer. Ella saw the message and immediately replied:

Come to the precinct.

"Lucifer, she wants us to go to the precinct." Chloe looked at him after she replied to the message with a thumbs up, noting the slight clench of his jaw.

"Of course," he said. "Tell me, Detective, where do they keep the tank?"

He swerved across the road, changing course for their new destination. Chloe had expected it and held on to the door to keep herself stable. She kept her attention on him. She wanted to comfort him and assure him that Ella would never hurt him, but the truth was, she wasn't certain. Ella was vocally, proudly Catholic, and Chloe knew well enough that their views on the Devil weren't exactly favorable. For all she knew, Ella might be concocting some Catholic-style exorcism to perform right in the middle of the precinct.

Chloe couldn't imagine Ella turning so quickly against Lucifer, but with the dual revelations of Marcus' and Lucifer's real identities hanging over her head, she didn't want to assume and possibly get him killed. Devil or not, he was a civilian and she was a cop, and this was a potentially hostile situation.

She decided to take charge.

"I'll go in first," she said as the parking garage came into view. Lucifer scoffed.

"Absolutely not," he snapped. He would have continued, but she cut him off.

"No," she said, her voice firm. He closed his mouth and breathed a loud, exasperated sound through his nose. She ignored him. "I mean it. You stay in the car. I'll go in first and let you know if it's safe."

She could see that it hurt him, to know that she had a point. If Ella planned to douse him in holy water and yell Latin in his face, he wouldn't take it well.

Speaking of...

"Can holy water hurt you?" She tried not to sound as silly as she felt asking that question, but she couldn't remember seeing him interact with any supposedly holy artifacts.

"I assure you, no holy relics pose me any threat, Detective." He'd pulled into the parking garage and was maneuvering into a space close to the stairwell and elevator. Ella's car was several spots away. Chloe nodded. The moment the car stopped, she opened her door and climbed out.

"Good." She raised a hand at him as he stood from his seat. He froze mid-motion, blinking at her.

"Sit. Stay." She pointed at his seat until he did just that, his expressed bemused.

"Good Devil," she finished. He rewarded her with a bright smile. He wouldn't stay. She knew he wouldn't stay. But he would wait until she was out of sight to disobey, which would buy her just enough time to get a read on Ella's mood.

She reached out and placed her hand over his on the door, a gesture of comfort and friendship. He froze and stared at her hand. She squeezed lightly, then let go. He swallowed, loudly, and looked at her.

"I'll text you," she said. "Stay."

His startled expression drifted into another smile, easier than the last. She could do this. They could do this. He was still Lucifer, her bonkers nightmare of a partner. He ignored speed limits and orders. He respected her judgement. And if his nervous fidgeting was to be believed, he cared deeply for the humans he'd allowed into his circle.

If it was all an act, it was a damn good one.

Chloe exited the parking garage and began an internal timer as she waited for the elevator to take her to the precinct. She knew she had five minutes max to find Ella before Lucifer burst into the building. She needed to be fast.

The moment the elevator pinged open, she rushed inside and down the stairs, scanning the scene before her. The night shift and late-night stragglers ignored her in favor of coffee and paperwork. The lab lights were on, and Ella was jotting something down on a clip board. Chloe strode across the precinct and stepped into the lab, keeping an eye out for any Home Alone style traps. Ella looked up when the door opened and beamed.

"Decker!" Ella glanced behind her, confused. "Where's Lucifer?"

"He's on the way." Chloe shut the lab door and began pulling the blinds closed. "We need to talk."

"Uh…"

Chloe turned after the last blinds were closed. When she turned around, Ella still looked confused. Chloe was suddenly consumed with doubt. How does one start this kind of conversation? Hey, so I know Lucifer is the Devil too. We're the Devil club.

"Lucifer told me about what you've been looking into for him," she said instead. Ella looked downright guilty.

"I'm sorry, Decker, I told him we should bring you in sooner. But you know how he is."

"It's fine," Chloe said. It was. Her jealousy had been misplaced. Their closeness over the past 24 hours was a symptom of their friendship, nothing more. Now, though, all bets were off. Ella seemed as perky as she ever was, but she could be faking it. She was open and honest with those around her, but she'd also once stolen cars. Maybe a cool head was something she could deploy at will.

Chloe was running out of time. Lucifer was likely already in the building, seeking out Miss Lopez for their chat. Chloe decided she'd had enough of secrets for the day. Ella had gone straight to the source when she'd figured it out. Chloe could be brave too.

"Look," she said, "Lucifer and I talked tonight. He showed me his wings."

Ella's eyes widened.

"Whoaaaa. His wings? Are they like a bat's?"

Chloe blinked.

"No," she said. Ella looked at her expectantly. She wasn't sure what else to say. This conversation was nothing like she'd imagined it would be. Ella waited another long moment, then dropped her hands, still holding both pen and clipboard. She sputtered an exasperated groan.

"Is he brooding?" Ella huffed and shook her head. "He's brooding, isn't he? I told him not to brood!"

As proof, Ella produced her phone and showed Chloe the messages Lucifer had staunchly ignored on their way over. She started at his last message, which mirrored what he'd said to her tonight:

I believe this is a conversation we should have in-person, Miss Lopez.

And then Ella's responses began, three in quick succession, then three more spread out over the past thirty minutes:

?

Don't be weird about it.

It was a y/n ques

Ur brooding arnet u?

Don't brood its not ur style

Precinctt. Now.

The lab door opened behind her to admit the Devil in question. He froze upon seeing both of them, halfway inside of the room, uncertain of his welcome. Ella made that exasperated sound again, then waved the clipboard at him.

"Come inside, ¡pendejo! Stop brooding!"

"I am not brooding," Lucifer said with a sniff. He stepped inside fully and let the door close behind him, then rooted himself to the spot. "Amenadiel broods. I ponder."

Ella fixed him with a stare that Chloe had seen on siblings' faces. That stare was not a compliment. Lucifer, predictably, bristled under the implicated criticism.

"I'm far handsomer when I do, as well," he added haughtily, eliciting an eye-roll from Chloe and a snicker from Ella.

"Yeah OK," she said. "I want to see your wings later. Right now I need to show you both something."

Was that really it? Chloe looked from Lucifer, who looked stunned, to Ella, who was setting her clipboard down and moving to her computer.

Lucifer cleared his throat.

"Miss Lopez…"

"Sh." She hushed him with a sharp noise, making him clap his mouth shut. He looked at Chloe, eyes wide and lost. Chloe gave him a small smile. She suspected he and Linda would need to have a very in-depth conversation about this later. She made a mental note to text his therapist a fair warning as she focused on Ella.

"I knew I'd heard of 'La Tunda' before," Ella said. She typed and clicked at the computer until she found the file she wanted and maximized it on the screen. "She's supposedly an exclusive contractor. Look who she's thought to work for."

Ella pointed at the relevant sentence and waited for Chloe's eyes to catch up. Lucifer remained close to the door of the lab, apparently unable to accept that Ella was OK.

Chloe read. Her heart pounded. She glanced at Lucifer, eyes wide.

"The Ruiz family," she said. Lucifer tilted his head.

"Ah – the tequila magnates? Among other things, if I remember. Ghastly operation, that. Didn't you take them down, Detective?"

"Not quite," Ella said. She clicked through a few more documents. "A big, powerful cartel like that doesn't go down so easily."

Lucifer stepped further into the lab, close enough that Chloe felt his presence behind her. She'd gotten used to that presence, even relied upon it on days where she felt uncertain about her own abilities. Chloe felt sick as the pieces clicked into place. If Lucifer was their target, the message was for her.

"Bianca Ruiz is in jail," she said, "but the Ruiz empire wasn't taken down. They transferred holdings to other offshore accounts and regrouped under her cousin." She looked at Lucifer, who seemed both impressed and confused.

"I've kept an eye on the proceedings," Chloe said to him.

"Organizations like that don't take threats lightly," Ella said behind her. She turned back to the forensic scientist. "They don't forget, either."

"They've been regrouping since Bianca was arrested and her sons killed," Chloe said.

"I guess their finances are back where they want them," Ella said.

"Which opens them up to pursuing past wrongs," Lucifer said. "I suppose their revenge is best served ice cold."

"Charlotte might be in danger," Chloe said with a jolt. "She was their lawyer and she flipped." She dug out her phone and dialed, unwilling to wait. As the phone rang on the other end, Chloe stepped out of the lab and into a side hallway to take the call. Ella raised both eyebrows at Lucifer and pointed at a stool.

"You, Mister, are going to sit right here. I have so many questions!"

Lucifer tugged at his sleeves and fiddled with his cuff-links. He looked at the stool, then Miss Lopez. He wanted to ask if she really wasn't afraid. He wanted to ask if she needed him to leave. He sat instead, spreading his hands in an open book sort of gesture.

"You realize you dragged me to church, hm?" His eyes twinkled with mirth as the realization dawned across Ella's face. "The Devil himself, Miss Lopez. How positively wicked."

"You still owe me Ash Wednesday, buddy," she said, and he laughed. The grin which flowed between them was natural and lighthearted. And then, for her, it wasn't.

"How do prayers work?" she asked. "Do they work? Does He hear them at all?"

Lucifer fluttered the fingers of one hand at her.

"Indeed," he said, "and others too. I couldn't say what happens when you pray to the saints – dowdy old fellows, the lot of them, save for the women and Augustine of course – but we can hear humans well enough, should we want to."

"You can hear prayers?" Ella perked up and pulled a second stool over, sitting across from him. "Show me how!"

Lucifer stared at her. She reached out and pushed at his shoulder, trying to encourage him.

"Come on! This is so much cooler than texting. Can I hear you too?"

"No," he said. "And I – I normally don't listen to prayers directed my way, Miss Lopez."

Her mouth scrunched to the side. She chewed her bottom lip.

"Because they're awful?" she asked, all wide-eyed charm and curiosity. He burst into a short spurt of laughter, unable to resist her energy.

"Yes, well, I'm the Devil, after all."

"Tell me what to do. I'll send you puppies and rainbows."

He produced the most dramatic, long-suffering sigh he could muster.

"Very well," he said. "First, let me draw my focus to –"

I'm hurt. Amenadiel's voice rang in his head, a directed prayer from a sibling. Though his voice didn't ring as strongly as when he'd been an angel, he was Lucifer's brother, and the prayer rang true. I can't fight them.

Lucifer surged from his stool, eyes flashing red, at the same moment Chloe burst through the door. Ella nearly fell back in her stool, startled by the sudden motions.

"Charlotte's on the way," Chloe said to them both, her eyes focused on Lucifer's. "She thinks Amenadiel is missing."


Pteromyini are flying squirrels.

The LAPD's tank is called the "battering ram."