- Raine Archer:
The fluorescent lights above me buzzed with that familiar, dull hum—steady, annoying, and weirdly comforting. The scent of burned coffee lingered in the corners of the Uppercity Police Headquarters, mingling with polished leather, steel, and gun oil. A typical morning.
I stood in the operations room, my arms crossed behind my back, the smooth metal of my badge cold against my chest. Lieutenant Commander. Third in command. High enough to command respect. Low enough to be ordered around.
And right now, I was biting the inside of my cheek while Captain Horace Denton ran his mouth.
"The thing about them," he said, jabbing a stubby finger toward the transparent map that hovered mid-air in the center of the room, the glowing lines separating Uppercity from Undercity, "is that they're goddamn savages. Filthy, half-demonic scum who wouldn't know discipline if it slapped them across the face."
I didn't flinch, but I did feel the way my fingers curled slightly into fists behind my back. He went on, as he always did, the rest of the team watching and pretending to hear him.
"All those gangs down there. No respect for law, for order. That whole sewer of a city is a breeding ground for corruption, crime, and inbreeding if you ask me."
Laughter. A few chuckles, low and uneasy.
I didn't laugh.
"Commander Archer," Denton turned to me suddenly, his mustache twitching. "How many arrests has your task force made from the Undercity this quarter?"
"Seventy-nine," I replied crisply. "Forty-three in the Narrows, the rest in Red Hollow and Bone District. No casualties on either side."
His lips curled. "See? Proof they're animals. Had to send you and your team just to get a handle on them."
That wasn't what I said. But correcting Denton in public was like trying to walk across molten glass. Pointless and painful.
Instead, I gave him a polite nod.
But inside, I burned.
The meeting ended with Denton grumbling about reports and promotions. The moment I stepped out of the room and into the quieter hallway, I let out a slow breath.
"I swear," came a familiar voice beside me, "one day someone's gonna shove that man's words right back down his throat. Might be me."
I turned, lips quirking. "You've been saying that for years, Elias."
Elias Carter—my best friend, my partner on most missions, and technically a rank below me—walked beside me with his usual lazy stride, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark uniform. His gun hung off his hip, gleaming.
"I mean it this time," he said, brushing a hand through his blond hair. "He doesn't even try to hide it anymore. You'd think for a man born of angels, he'd have a shred of grace."
My smirk faded slightly. "That's the irony, isn't it?"
Because here, in Uppercity, we were all supposed to be "blessed." All are born of angels and humans. Our ancestors had wings, and light in our veins. It made us "pure." Better.
Half angels.
And Undercity? That place beneath our floating city towers, veiled in smoke and neon haze? That was where the "fallen" lived.
The ones whose blood ran dark with demons, whose shadows stretched a little too long, whose eyes glowed a little too bright in the dark. Half-demons.
They weren't like us, they said. They were monsters.
But I had never understood the hate.
When I was a rookie, fresh out of the academy and green enough to still believe in justice, I was sent on a retrieval mission in the Undercity. It was supposed to be routine. Go in, arrest a gang runner, get out.
Instead, I saw starving children curled up in alleyways. I saw families hiding from patrol drones, afraid of being mistaken for criminals just because they were born half demons. I saw color and chaos and crime—but I also saw survival, resilience, and loyalty.
My boss ordered to arrest of every single half-demon we could find. Criminal or not.
That mission stayed with me. Changed me.
I never told Denton. Never told anyone except Elias.
—-
We left the operations room behind, stepping into the quiet hallway. The tension in my shoulders loosened slightly. Only slightly.
"Coffee?" Elias asked, already steering me toward the break room.
"Do we have a choice?" I muttered.
He grinned. "Not really. But it's either this or sitting through Denton's reports, and I'd rather drink engine grease."
The break room was small, tucked between the armory and the locker rooms. A dim screen flickered in the corner, broadcasting the news—another story about "Undercity violence." I ignored it.
Elias poured two cups of what barely qualified as coffee, handing me one before hopping up onto the counter like he had no bones in his body. He was effortlessly comfortable no matter where he was.
Unlike most officers, he never seemed to carry the weight of the job on his back. Maybe because he hadn't let it crush him yet. Maybe because he refused to.
Elias was a bright thing in a city of cold steel. He laughed easily, talked with his hands, and somehow had never lost that annoying, boyish charm.
And right now, he was using it to talk shit about our boss.
"I swear to God, one day, Denton is going to drop dead from pure bitterness," he said, stretching his long legs out. "And I hope I get to deliver his eulogy."
I snorted. "What would you even say?"
He cleared his throat dramatically. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the long-overdue passing of Captain Horace Denton, a man so full of hot air it's a miracle he didn't float off into the sky."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "You can't say that."
"I can and I will." He pointed at me. "And you'll be standing right next to me, pretending to be all serious while secretly enjoying every second of it."
He wasn't wrong.
Elias grinned, leaning back against the counter. "Seriously though, how do you deal with him? The man practically froths at the mouth every time Undercity is mentioned."
"I ignore him," I said simply.
Elias shook his head, blond hair falling slightly into his face. He was too good-looking for this damn job.
Tall, and broad-shouldered, but not in an intimidating way. He had the kind of easy presence that made people trust him without realizing it. His eyes were a ridiculous shade of blue, always warm. Too kind for a place like this.
And yet, he had survived.
"What?" he asked, catching me staring.
"Nothing," I said, taking another sip of coffee.
His gaze softened, playful teasing fading just slightly. "You okay?"
That was Elias. Always noticing. Always caring.
I nodded. "Just thinking."
"About the Undercity?"
I hesitated. "Something's changing down there."
He exhaled, tilting his head back against the cabinets. "You're gonna drag me into this, aren't you?"
"You're the one who keeps following me."
"Yeah, yeah," he said with a smirk. "Guess I'm just a glutton for punishment."
We sat there for a while, drinking coffee, the hum of the city outside pressing in.
Neither of us knew then just how much everything was about to change.