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watched archival footage of duels between Nephilim many times, but Eno’s aggressive posturing, and Evangeline’s defensive reaction, was unlike anything he had seen in the case studies he’d encountered. A duel between angels was theoretically a confrontation to the death. Only one of the angels would make it out alive. And although Evangeline was of a higher species of angel, he couldn’t help but sense that Eno would win.
    Evangeline fixed the angel in her gaze. Verlaine could see that she was struggling with her thoughts, that the confrontation was unexpected, that she didn’t want to fight. He remembered what she had said about choosing not to become like the Nephilim, about being born with the characteristics of the beasts but refusing to accept her fate. Every impulse told her to kill Eno, and yet he knew she would not allow herself to do it.
    Suddenly, Eno leaped into the air, her wings pushing her high above the rooftop once more. Evangeline stretched her wings and swooped into the sky. Eno hovered, waiting for Evangeline, watching her, preparing to attack. In a swirl of motion, the fight began. From a distance they looked like dragonflies twisting and circling in the moonlight.
    As Verlaine studied their movements, he saw that Evangeline was far more adept than he had initially thought. Eno dove and struck, harrying Evangeline, darting at her, circling her, teasing her. Evangeline responded, slamming into Eno full force. Eno fell back, tumbling through the air. Recovering herself, she held her knees to her body, pushed herself forward, and turning in a somersault, spun once, twice, three times, gaining momentum with each rotation until she was a ball of fire. She launched herself at Evangeline, striking her with a force that threw her to the roof in a clatter of slate tiles. She lay still, stunned from the force of her fall.
    With an elegant flick of her wings, Eno descended and walked to Evangeline. She was trembling from the effort, her long black hair falling over her shoulders, her breathing heavy. She stood over Evangeline and drew her wings back, preparing to deliver a final blow, when Evangeline pushed Eno with an inhuman strength, landing a hit to the solar plexus.
    “Very nice,” Bruno said under his breath, and Verlaine had to agree: The solar plexus was the weakest point of all angelic creatures. A solid strike there could end the duel in a second.
    “The Emim angel isn’t wearing a shield,” Verlaine noted, surprised. Mercenary angels often protected thier chest.
    “She likes the challenge,” Bruno said. “And if she gets hit, she likes the pain.”
    Eno buckled, raising her hands to defend herself. Evangeline kicked again, striking her with enormous force, her movements precise, perfectly delivered, vicious. In a matter of seconds she gained dominance over her opponent, pinning her to the floor, pressing her boot into the curve of her elegant neck, as if to crush her throat. Evangeline was the stronger angel. She had the power and the skill to kill Eno if she chose, kill her without effort, kill her as easily as if she were pressing the body of an insect under her boot. Despite himself, Verlaine was proud of her. He watched, waiting for her to deliver the death blow.
    Instead, Evangeline bent on one knee and folded her wings over her shoulders in submission. Verlaine stared, shocked, as Eno recovered her bearing and, losing no time, began to bind Evangeline’s hands behind her back. Evangeline met his eye, and he knew, with one look, that this act of surrender was a message for him. Evangeline had the powers of the Nephilim, but she chose not to be one of them. It was clear now that all his dreams, and every angel he had tracked, had led him back to Evangeline. Now he was about to lose her again.
    Bruno must have been thinking the same thing, because he was ready to go after Evangeline. He stepped forward, his gun in his hand. Verlaine knew the standard procedure: Shoot the creature with an