The lights of Lux were golden, hazy, like the last warm glow of a sunset that never quite faded. The music, drifting from the grand piano, was older than anyone in the room—except, maybe, for the man playing it.

Lucifer Morningstar, former ruler of Hell, tapped out a melody from ancient Rome, something that carried the weight of empires and betrayals. The kind of song that stuck to your ribs like a half-remembered dream.

I shifted uneasily in my seat at the bar, my fingers curling around my glass. Molly Carpenter sat beside me, her own drink untouched, watching the world with that unreadable expression of hers. She didn't say anything, but when our eyes met, something in her look twisted in my gut. It wasn't the first time I'd seen that kind of quiet longing from her, and it wouldn't be the last.

Her heart, I thought absently, must be made of the same reinforced rubber they used on space shuttles, with the number of times she'd thrown it at me, only for me to gently, firmly deflect it. She deserved better. She deserved someone who could love her that way.

And then the doors opened, and every nerve in my body snapped to attention.

Nicodemus Archleone walked in like he owned the place. He didn't, but Nicodemus had never been the kind of guy to let reality get in his way.

Carlos Ramirez, sitting to my right, muttered a prayer under his breath. He wasn't wrong to.

Nicodemus moved like a ghost, like a blade cutting through air, parting the Lux crowd without touching a soul. He was old, impossibly old, and he carried the weight of something dark and ancient with him. He stopped at the piano, where Lucifer's fingers still danced over the keys, and smirked.

"I had to see it for myself," Nicodemus murmured. "The great Lucifer Morningstar. No longer the King of Hell. Just a pianist in a nightclub."

Lucifer's smile was lazy, charming, like a lion indulging a house cat that thought it was a tiger. "Well, I do enjoy the classics."

"You gave it up," Nicodemus pressed, his voice a whisper of silk over steel. "You stepped away from power. That makes you many things, Lucifer, but not a ruler. Not even a player in the game anymore. Just… a resource. A piece waiting to be claimed."

The piano fell silent.

The air thickened, like the weight of an oncoming storm.

Then the lights flickered, just once, but it wasn't electricity failing. It was something bigger, something older, something pulling the world taut, as if reality itself was holding its breath.

Lucifer stood up.

And for a moment, the illusion of civility peeled back.

His eyes burned, not red, but something deeper, something molten at the core of the world. And behind him, just for an instant, golden wings shimmered into existence—blazing, brilliant, divine.

The crowd, blissfully unaware of the raw power humming through the air, applauded. They thought it was part of the show.

Carlos whispered the Pater Noster under his breath, sweating bullets. Lucifer ignored it—holy words didn't touch him anyway—but when his gaze flicked toward Molly, who sat still as stone, her breath too shallow, he softened just enough to give her a small, almost paternal smile. A silent reassurance.

Then he turned back to Nicodemus, and the storm was back in his eyes.

"You think I left my power behind?" Lucifer's voice was quiet, but the weight of it pressed down on the room. "You think Hell made me strong?"

Nicodemus didn't move, didn't flinch. But I saw it—the flicker of hesitation, the way his fingers twitched at his side before he stilled them.

Lucifer took a step closer, the floor beneath him thrumming like it was remembering something older than time.

"Let me tell you why even the angels fear me," he said, his voice silk and steel wrapped around something infinite. "It was never because He cast me out. It was because He never took my power away. Hell didn't make me strong. I made Hell strong."

The air shattered like glass.

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the storm passed.

The club snapped back to normal—music, laughter, drinks clinking against crystal. The moment was gone. But Nicodemus had felt it. I had felt it.

Lucifer grinned, easy, effortless. "Now, then! Drinks? Let's toast to old wars and older fools."

Nicodemus lifted his glass, steady, but something in the set of his jaw told me all I needed to know.

Lucifer turned to us then, his smile all charm again. "And you two Wardens! Such manners. Unlike dear Nicodemus here. You at least know when to keep your mouths shut."

I lifted my drink. "Hey, I have some self-preservation instinct."

Carlos nodded, still pale. "Yep. No notes."

Molly exhaled slowly, looking at Lucifer, looking at me, looking at the space between us all. She didn't raise her glass. But she didn't look away, either.

And that was how you survived a night at Lux.