"Waiting for the target to appear also meant waiting for the 'supplier.'" Metatron took a sip of his drink, his gaze slowly sweeping across the crowd like a scanner. "Based on the information I gathered and some intuitive sense, a particular mortal's emotional vulnerability will reach its peak here tonight. It will be the perfect moment for them to be struck by an 'arrow of love.'"
"Cupid, or one of his agents, will not miss this opportunity. Our target is Dwight, the man who is about to be chosen. We need to intercept Cupid before the arrow is fired, or just as it is fired, and take the bow and arrows."
"There is no need... to harm that man or Cupid?" Castiel confirmed again, and the tightly wound string in his heart loosened a little.
"In theory, no." Metatron gave him a look that was almost reassuring. "Our target is the tool, not lives. We only need to subdue him, disarm him, and leave. I will keep it as low-key as possible. This is an acquisition, not an execution."
Castiel nodded and sat a little straighter.
He began observing the people in the bar, imitating Metatron.
His gaze passed over faces laughing, flirting, drinking themselves numb, and staring blankly into space as he tried to identify the man named Dwight, as well as the possibly hidden Cupid.
Time passed slowly amid the loud music and hazy smoke.
Castiel spotted a balding middle-aged man in a plaid shirt drinking beer alone at the bar. His eyes occasionally drifted toward a group of young men and women nearby, filled with longing and timidity.
Was that him? Castiel wondered.
Then he noticed a well-dressed but lonely-looking young woman sitting in a corner.
A nearly untouched cocktail sat before her. She kept staring at