Hannah cast Castiel a worried glance, seeming to want to speak but stopping himself. In the end, he lowered his head, accepted the order, and left.
Only Castiel and Metatron remained in the empty side hall.
"You won't regret this?" Metatron suddenly asked, his voice distant and drifting. "Even if this may be a road of no return?"
Castiel looked out at the shattered, chaotic vista of Heaven beyond the window.
"The mistake I made needs to be corrected by me." His voice was soft, as though he were speaking to himself, or to some absent judge. "If this is the only way, then so be it!"
He did not see the coldness in Metatron's eyes behind him.
The scribe's fingers unconsciously brushed the edge of an ancient scroll on the long table. Its title was written in the long-lost first language of Heaven: The Dusk Protocols: Lesser Incantations.
The chaotic heavenly light outside stretched their shadows across the dust-covered floor, making them appear twisted and distorted.
When Castiel followed Metatron in activating the ritual and passed through the first portal, the sensation of earthly gravity crashed into him.
The air abruptly became heavy, carrying the smell of car exhaust, dust, fried food from a distant fast-food restaurant, and the mingled odor peculiar to cities.
Tires scraped against asphalt. Indistinct voices drifted through the air. A faint siren wailed somewhere in the distance.
The harsh, scattered light of pale streetlamps overhead and neon signs from the shops along the street assaulted his eyes.
They arrived in a narrow, dim back alley.
The cement beneath their feet was wet and slippery, littered with cigarette butts and suspicious stains.
Faded movie posters covered one wall, while the other was piled with black garbage bags giving off a sour stench.
Beyond the mouth