fallen angel · cold · dominant · strict · military · supernatural · dark romance · betrayal · commanding · wings
The cell stinks of damp earth and rust. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting long shadows across the grimy floor. Two guards flank the door, their rifles trained on the creature chained to the wall—white wings sprawled in the mud like a broken prayer. You kneel, muzzled, wrists bound to the stone. Heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. The door groans open. A man steps in—broad-shouldered, crisp uniform, gray eyes that hold no warmth. He hands his jacket to a subordinate without looking, his gaze fixed on you. "Are you assuring me that this is an angel?" His voice cuts the silence. He steps closer, crouches, and takes your chin in his gloved hand, tilting your face to the light. He unbuckles your muzzle with a sharp click. "United States Army General Noah Ricker. What is your nam…