Paris, a beautiful place, sprawls below us as we fly high above in an airplane. The city lights sparkle like a sea of stars, and the iconic Eiffel Tower stands tall amidst the bustling landscape.

“We’ve arrived!”

I can tell Elene is relieved to be out of the oppressive energy field we escape earlier. But she might be confused. We are not yet in the airport.

Then, out of nowhere, Azazel’s unmistakable presence looms nearby. He approaches us with his usual confident air.

“Time to land,” he says nonchalantly.

“What do you mean, ‘time to land’? We’re still midair!” I retort, my voice rising in disbelief.

“Elene, time to land. That’s an order.”

Before I can argue, Elene’s hand grabs mine with startling speed. In an instant, I feel my body shift into an ethereal form. And then, without warning, we plunge out of the airplane.

“AHHHHH!” I scream as we free-fall toward the glowing city below.

Elene carries me effortlessly, her movements graceful and steady despite the chaos. “Why are you screaming? We’ve done this so many times before.”

“No! We’ve flown many times, but we’ve never done this kind of skydiving stunt!” I shoot back, my words coming out in panicked shouts.

As we plummet closer to the city, my instincts make me yell even though I know, deep down, that we’ll land unscathed.

“Where are Azazel and Maria?!”

“Oh, they’ll arrive through the airport.”

“What the hell?! Then why are we falling?!”

“Because we need to buy tickets for the three of us for return tonight. Taking Maria along would slow us down.”

And just like that, we land in Paris, Elene’s effortless flight cushioning our descent. She places me gently on the ground, her radiant grin contrasting my shaken nerves. The vibrant streets of Paris greet us as if nothing unusual happens, while I try to regain my composure.

The streets of Paris greet us with their lively charm. Cobblestone paths stretch out before us

“Elene, we’re supposed to find the airport to buy tickets,” I remind her the Azazel gadget gives us money to use.

“Relax,” she says with a carefree wave of her hand. “We’ll get there in time. Paris is known for its sights! It would be rude not to enjoy it.”

I am drawn to a colorful storefront displaying a collection of glittering jewelry. My eyes light up like a child’s.

“Look at these!” I exclaim, picking up a delicate necklace. “It’s cute, don’t you think?”

“Not much,” Elene says.

Then I hear Elene’s phone buzzing.

“What? Isn’t it supposed to be out of range?”

“Ah, it’s my husband.”

“Husband?!”

“Yeah, I am legally married on Earth.”

“What…?”

“Well, I never think I would meet you so early, so I decide to get a man. It’s easy if I give him the security he needs.”

“Didn’t you say you love Azazel? Why are you married?”

“Because human bonds are easy to break,” she laughs proudly, with a finger pointing at herself.

Then she blushes, looking at me.

“Of course, you are different, Elysia!”

Elene answers, and they have a slight talk. It seems her husband has some contacts to actually find her in France.

“So what?”

“He’s sending a jet here.”

“A what… who do you marry?”

“I don’t know… a mature man, but I make sure he has money first.”

“Okay, I will not ask more questions. So, where do we need to wait?”

“By tomorrow, it will be this address.”

She shows me an address, and we agree to be there tomorrow morning after finding Maria again.

As we wander further, the Eiffel Tower comes into view, standing tall and majestic against the Parisian skyline. Elene stops abruptly, pulling me toward a vendor selling mini replicas of the tower.

“These are adorable!” she says, examining a tiny silver one.

I sigh. “Elene, focus. Remember?”

She huffs but hands a few coins to the vendor. “This is for Maria. She’ll love it.”

Just as we turn to leave, a man approaches us, dressed sharply but with an unsettlingly eager grin. “Excuse me, ladies,” he says smoothly in english, gesturing toward a sleek brochure. “I can’t help but overhear. Are you looking for plane tickets?”

Elene immediately perks up. “No, but we need something else. We need a place to stay.”

“Perfect timing!” the man says, his smile widening. “I can get you exclusive hotel tickets—cheaper than the other hotel prices and much faster. Right here, right now.”

Something about him sets off alarms in my head, but Elene, ever trusting, nods enthusiastically. “That sounds perfect!”

“Elene, wait—” I start, but she already hands over a sizable wad of cash.

The man hands us two printed tickets with a flourish. “There you go, ladies. Enjoy your stay near the tower!” And with that, he disappears into the crowd.

Elene grins triumphantly. “See? Problem solved. Now we can enjoy the city without worrying!”

But when I glance at the tickets, my heart sinks. They are riddled with typos—our destination misspelled.

“Elene, these are fake,” I say flatly, showing her the tickets.

“What?” She snatches them from my hands, her eyes narrowing, ready to strike through the crowd.

“Elene, we can’t attract people. Behave!”

We spend the next few minutes wandering around, snapping photos from every possible angle. Elene even convinces me to climb partway up the tower, insisting the higher view is better.

As we descend, a bustling crowd near a street performer catches Elene’s attention. “Look at that!” she exclaims, pointing to a group gathered in a nearby arena-like area where a man performs card tricks.

“Elene,” I warn, but she is already making her way over.

The performer’s hands move swiftly, flipping cards and coins in mesmerizing patterns. A few foreigners stand around, cheering and tossing in coins as he challenges them to guess the outcome of his next trick.

“You! Lovely lady!” the man says, pointing directly at Elene. “Do you like to try your luck?”

Elene’s eyes sparkle with intrigue. “Absolutely!”

The man lays out three cups on a small table, slipping a marble under one of them before shuffling them quickly. “Find the marble, and you win!”

Elene’s confidence is palpable. She points to one of the cups without hesitation, and the man lifts it to reveal the marble beneath. The crowd erupts in cheers.

“See? I’m not just a pretty face!” Elene says, turning to me with a smug grin.

The man’s smile widens. “Congratulations! Care to try again? Higher stakes this time?”

“Higher stakes?” she echoes, clearly intrigued.

“No!” I snap, grabbing her arm. “Elene, don’t.”

But it is too late. She already places her talisman—we definitely can’t afford to lose—on the table as her wager.

The cups move faster this time, blurring before our eyes. Elene furrows her brow, carefully tracking the marble’s movements.

“That one!” she says confidently, pointing to a cup.

The man lifts it, revealing… nothing.

“What?!” Elene gasps, leaning closer. “No way—I was sure!”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The man shrugs with a slick smile, pocketing her talisman. “Better luck next time, mademoiselle.”

I groan, pulling her away. “Elene, are you serious? We’re already broke, and now you’ve lost that?!”

“It’s fine,” she mutters, looking sheepish. “I can get it back—”

Before she can finish, a commotion breaks out behind us. I turn to see several men bumping into the crowd, and then one of them shoves past me, making a beeline for Elene.

“Hey!” I shout, but it’s too late. He snatches her phone and mine, darting off before either of us can react.

Elene growls, her eyes flashing with anger. “You’re kidding me.”

Without thinking, she bolts after them, dragging me along in her wake. Despite her speed and skill, the maze-like streets of Paris give the thieves plenty of cover.

After several minutes of chasing shadows, we stop, panting and frustrated. “They’re gone,” I say, leaning against a lamppost.

Elene clenches her fists. “This city is the worst.”

I can’t disagree. Now we’re broke, scammed, robbed, and phoneless.

“Let’s just find a way to the airport,” I mutter.

“I can’t deal with this anymore,” she grumbles, lifting us off the ground. “We’re going to the airport. Let’s see if they managed to follow the plan.”

“You mean the plan where you threw us out of a plane mid-flight?” I retort, holding on tightly as she shoots into the air.

Elene rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, it worked out! You’re alive, aren’t you?”

I don’t answer, choosing instead to focus on not looking down as Paris becomes a blur beneath us.

We land near the airport’s main entrance, earning curious and confused glances from passersby. Elene folds her wings back effortlessly, brushing herself off. “Right. Now to find Azazel and Maria.”

“That’s easier said than done,” I mutter, rubbing my arms from the chilly wind. “We don’t have phones, no way to call them, and this place is massive.”

Elene sighs, already scanning the area with her sharp demon senses. “Well, Azazel sticks out like a sore thumb—tall, broody, and perpetually annoyed. He has to be around here somewhere.”

We roam the airport for what feels like hours, weaving through crowds of tourists and families. The bustling energy of the terminal is overwhelming, with announcements blaring overhead and people rushing in every direction.

Elene, never one to handle subtlety well, starts loudly calling out, “Azazel! Maria! Where are you?!”

“Can you not?” I hiss, tugging her arm. “You’re drawing attention!”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” she shoots back. “We can’t exactly text them! They should’ve waited for us here!”

“Maybe they’re at a different terminal?” I suggest, though I’m starting to doubt it myself.

“Or maybe they’re just as lost as we are,” Elene grumbles, her shoulders slumping. “This is hopeless.”

We plop down on a bench near a bustling café, defeated. Elene rests her chin in her hands, looking uncharacteristically glum.

I sigh, feeling a pang of sympathy. “We’ll figure it out. Azazel’s not exactly the type to panic—he’s probably waiting for us somewhere. We just have to keep looking.”

Elene perks up slightly at that, but before she can respond, a loud crash echoes from across the terminal. Both of us instinctively turn toward the commotion.

“Should we... check that out?” I ask, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“If Lord Azazel’s anywhere in this airport, that’s probably him.”

And with that, we bolt toward the source of the noise, hoping we’ll finally catch up to our elusive companions.

The commotion leads us to a small crowd forming near one of the terminal gates. Elene pushes through the gathering with her usual lack of subtlety, and I follow close behind, squeezing between confused onlookers.

At the center of the crowd stands Azazel, gripping the wrist of a man who looks both terrified and furious. The man sputters something in rapid French, gesturing wildly with his free hand.

Opposite him is a woman, visibly shaken but trying to regain her composure. She looks like she’s in her late twenties, with dark hair neatly tied back and glasses perched on her nose. Her expression wavers between gratitude and disbelief as she clutches her bag tightly.

Azazel’s voice is calm but icy as he addresses the man, his tone cutting through the noise. “Apologize to her. Now.”

The man spits something in French, clearly unwilling to back down. Azazel’s grip tightens, and the man winces, his bravado crumbling in an instant.

The man finally gives a curt, reluctant apology in French before Azazel releases his wrist with a sharp motion. The man stumbles back, clutching his arm and glaring daggers at Azazel before slinking off into the crowd.

Azazel turns to the woman, his expression softening ever so slightly. He says something—probably in English—but she tilts her head, clearly not understanding.

“She doesn’t speak English,” I murmur to Elene, who immediately steps forward, her eyes brightening.

“Leave it to me!” she says, switching to flawless French as she addresses the woman.

The woman’s eyes widen, and she quickly responds in French, her voice still trembling slightly. The two exchange a brief conversation, with Elene nodding every so often and occasionally glancing back at Azazel.

“Well?” I ask impatiently when their exchange ends.

Elene turns to us, a hint of a smirk on her lips. “She says the man was harassing her—said something rude and tried to grab her bag. Azazel stepped in before it got worse.”

Azazel shrugs as if it’s nothing, his gaze fixed elsewhere. “He was asking for it,” he says, brushing off his sleeve.

“She’s a psychologist,” Elene says, her tone tinged with amusement. “From France. She says she’s grateful for your help but doesn’t understand why you did it.”

Azazel glances at the woman, his face unreadable. “I confused her with Elysia. That’s all.”

“What? We don’t look anything alike!”

“You both have red hair,”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

The woman speaks again, her voice soft but earnest.

“She’s thanking you,” Elene translates with a grin. “And she says you’re... uh, ‘a strong and mysterious man.’”

Azazel sighs, “Let’s move on. I’m done here.”

The woman waves a shy goodbye as we start to leave, and Elene waves back, flashing her a cheery smile. As we walk, Elene turns to Azazel, her smirk mischievous.

“You know, Lord Azazel, you’re quite the hero in Paris. Maybe we should start calling you ‘The Broody Protector.’”

“Say that again,” Azazel warns coldly, “and you’re flying home without wings.”

Elene laughs, clearly unbothered, and for the first time all day, I feel like things might actually turn around—assuming we can still find Maria.

----------------------------------------

We finally spot Maria sitting on a bench in a quieter corner of the airport. Her small frame is hunched forward, elbows resting on her knees, her face pale and weary.

“Maria!” I call, rushing over to kneel in front of her. “Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

Elene hovers nearby, biting her lip. “She looks awful,” she mutters. “You’re pale, shaky, and probably running a fever. Just admit it—you’re sick.”

Before we can argue further, the French psychologist appears, walking toward us with a calm, confident stride. She stops a few steps away, her gaze flicking to Azazel as if seeking permission.

The woman speaks softly in French, and Elene quickly translates. “She says she might be able to help. She can tell Maria’s unwell and offers her support.”

Azazel narrows his eyes. “Tell her thanks, but no thanks. We’re not involving healthcare in another country—too many variables, too many risks.”

Elene translates, though her tone carries a hint of annoyance. The woman, unfazed, responds calmly, gesturing toward Maria.

“She says this isn’t about medication or hospitals,” Elene relays. “As a psychologist, she can evaluate Maria and offer some relief without anything invasive.”

Azazel’s brow furrows. “And what happens if her methods make things worse? Mental health evaluations require context, not a quick guess in an airport.”

The woman responds with a measured smile, her tone steady.

“She says mental health transcends language and culture,” Elene says. “And doing nothing is the real risk.”

Azazel studies the woman for a long moment before sighing. “Fine. Do what you can.”

The woman nods and kneels beside Maria, speaking softly in French. Elene translates as best she can, though much of it seems to be soothing reassurances. Gradually, Maria relaxes, her breathing steadier, her shoulders less tense.

As the psychologist works, Azazel turns to me, his tone sharp. “Why are you still here? I thought you were buying tickets.”

I hesitate, glancing at Elene. “We... got scammed,” I admit reluctantly.

Azazel pinches the bridge of his nose. “Scammed,” he repeats, his voice flat.

“They pretended to sell us tickets and took our phones,” Elene adds defensively.

“And the money machine?” I asked.

“It has a cooldown. Nobody can’t use it for another three days.”

Interrupting our argument, Elene steps forward.

“She says Maria is stable but needs rest. She knows a quiet place nearby where we can go.”

Azazel regards her with a calculating look before nodding. “Lead the way.”

With Maria leaning on me for support and the psychologist guiding us, we follow her out of the terminal. Azazel remains silent, his expression unreadable as he walks a few steps behind.