Five minutes later, we reach the maternity ward.
I stop the team at the door, palm raised.
"I want to observe her before we go in."

From behind the glass, we watch.
An elderly woman and a priest sit beside the bed, flanking the mother like silent bookends. The priest is speaking, fast, relentless, barely pausing to breathe.

Elizabeth, the mother, does not match the image I had pictured.
No wild eyes or shrieking madness. No disheveled terror.
She is beautiful. Serene, even. Thick golden hair braided neatly over one shoulder. Her large green eyes are calm yet haunted. And when she blinks, it lingers a fraction too long, like someone trying to shut out the world.

The priest leans closer, voice tense.
"You cannot go around claiming the baby is a demon. The community will think you have lost your mind. They will lock you up."

She stares forward, jaw tight, eyes unblinking.
He does not stop. "Who do you think they will believe? You? Or the baby?"

Her fists clench.
"I do not care," she whispers. "I do not want him."

Then she lifts her eyes to his. And her voice cracks, but not her conviction.
"I know what I saw."

That is our cue.
I push open the door and step inside, my expression neutral, unreadable. I take my place at the foot of her bed and offer a smile polished to perfection.

"Hi. My name is Max. We are here to ask a few questions about your baby. May we?"

The priest instantly rises, one arm outstretched to shield her.
"Who the hell are you? And what business do you have with Elizabeth and her child?"

I shift my gaze to him, calm, measured, unblinking.
"My business is with Elizabeth. You do not get to answer for her."

He opens his mouth, but she cuts in, gently lowering his arm.
"It is not my baby. I told Father Peter already. I do not want him."

I have brought Seth and Lady Elsa with me. The rest of the team stands guard at the entrance, alert and waiting.
"Well then…" I turn my attention to her. My tone neither softens nor hardens. "That means you cannot stop us from taking him. Can you?"

Her eyes flicker, but she does not flinch.
"You can do whatever you want. I refuse to claim that little Satan personified."

I extend my hand toward Lady Elsa. She is already ready, handing me a sheet of paper and a pen.
"Then write it down."
I hold the items out to Elizabeth. "Relinquish your rights. Put it in writing, and he is gone."

She hesitates.
And I feel it, the shift.
My discernment flares like a match struck in darkness.

"Or…" I narrow my eyes. "Do you just want to hold onto your trophy a little longer?"

The words hit their mark.
She snatches the pen and scribbles the statement, handing the page over with trembling fingers.

It is done.

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The nurse leads us down the corridor.

The further we go, the quieter the hospital becomes. The hum of machines fades. The smell of antiseptic turns sharp like ozone, or like lightning trapped in glass.

Halfway down the hall, a little girl skips ahead of her mother, clutching a stuffed rabbit.

"She's right there, Mommy! Baby Lila's waiting!"

Her laughter cuts through the stillness like sunlight through fog until it doesn't.

The moment we near the nursery door, she stops.

Her small hand freezes midair. Then she drops the toy.

The rabbit hits the tiles. The girl's knees buckle.

Her mother gasps, catching her before she hits the floor.

The nurse leading us rushes in, her voice all authoritative as she checks the girl for injuries or signs of distress, but we already know.

The air thickens, humming against my skin.

It's him.

The aura leaks from the nursery like smoke seeping through a keyhole, black at first, then twisting, refracting into faint gold at the edges, as if corruption and holiness are wrestling for supremacy.

Jamey, his eyes locked on the smoke, walks straight into Alec. Alec spins around, maybe from irritation, maybe because even he's jumpy.

Jamey doesn't notice. He tugs at my sleeve.
"Boss, call me crazy, but I've watched enough horror movies to know that black, smoky auras never end well." He leans closer, his voice lowering as the shadows breathe around us. "Just so you know, I'm sleeping in your room tonight. Smack in the middle of you and Seth."

I exchange a look with Seth. His Silver Breath sharpens the air between us, and for a heartbeat, the corridor seems to tremble. The fluorescent lights flicker, not from electricity but from awareness.

The Living Scripture stirs beneath my skin, each glyph glowing faintly.

Not fear, it whispers through my bones. Memory.

The nurse, oblivious, straightens the little girl and guides her mother away.

As they pass, the child opens her eyes, pupils wide, voice barely a whisper.
"He's not bad… he's loud."

Then she clings to her mother's neck, trembling.

Silence folds over the corridor again.

Seth's voice is low, reverent. "Whatever's inside that room, it isn't ordinary darkness. I need to understand why Elizabeth saw horns and hooves or whether it was her fear… or the devil twisting the truth. He's clever that way, turning innocence into something to be despised, until even light looks monstrous."

I step closer to the door. My reflection in the glass looks wrong, blurred, rippling as if the air itself cannot decide what's real.

Beneath my ribs, the Living Scripture flares once more, gold threading up my throat.
"Not now," I whisper.

But it burns anyway, as though reaching for its kin.

Beside me, Seth's Silver Breath responds. The two forces, gold and silver, curl toward each other like opposite ends of a prayer.

He grips the handle and slowly pushes the door open.

A sound like the first breath of creation slips through the gap, soft, cosmic, endless.

Inside, the lights dim as if bowing. The cradle is haloed in smoke and light that should not coexist.

Within it lies the child.

A baby, impossibly still. Skin pale as morning milk, veins faintly luminous beneath the surface. His tiny fists are clenched, and between his lashes, silver, not grey, but unmistakably silver.

Each exhale leaves a trace of mist that drifts upward, forming faint shapes. Not letters. Not words. Just movement, like language trying to remember itself.

The Living Scripture within me hums louder, every glyph along my arms shifting in silent recognition.

Seth exhales, his voice barely a whisper. "He's breathing something holy."

I cannot move. The air tastes ancient. The veil between Heaven and Earth thins with every rise and fall of his chest.

Then the baby opens his eyes.

They are not gold. Not silver. They are both.

And every light in the room bows.

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The glow deepens, spreading outward until the walls shimmer like glass catching divine breath. The smoke rises, soft as prayer, curling toward us.

The Living Scripture flares against my skin, not in warning, but in reverence.

Seth's hand finds mine. The Silver Breath steadies, weaving with the gold in quiet harmony.

Somewhere beyond the veil, something watches. Approving. Waiting.

I whisper the name that forms unbidden in my heart.
"Israel."

The baby blinks once, as if he hears it.

And then, everything falls silent.

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Thank you for reading Chapter Two of Arc Two.

This chapter plays with contrasts, humor on the shore, warmth in reunion, and the sudden drop into divine unease.

Elizabeth's calm hides a greater storm, and Israel's arrival marks the turning point of Heaven's involvement on Earth.

Tell me your thoughts.

Did the humor make you smile?

Did Israel's presence leave a mark?

And most of all… what do you think Heaven just set in motion?