Whatever that girl had said, it was nonsense.

 

This was reality: this small, perfect moment.

Later, after dinner, Janus climbed the stairs to his room.

​

He undressed, tossed his coat over the chair, and as he turned toward his bed, something hard pressed against his pocket.

He pulled out the pendant.

The silver wings glimmered faintly in the dim light. He turned it over, watching the faint pulse of white fade in and out like a heartbeat.

“What am I doing?” he muttered. “She’s insane.

​

Chosen by God? Peace to the world? Probably trying to recruit me into some cult.”

He shoved the necklace into the drawer beside his bed and closed it. The sound clicked through the quiet like a closing door on destiny.

​

Janus lay down and stared at the ceiling. The scent of stew still lingered in the air. Somewhere outside, the crickets sang. Slowly, his eyelids grew heavy.

And just before sleep claimed him, he thought he heard something faint a flutter, like the beat of wings brushing gently against the window.