The First Age

The church was tucked between two wide, snow-dusted boulevards, its bell tower rising like a sentinel against the Moscow night. Not a landmark for tourists, nor so small that it went unnoticed. Its stones were worn but tended, the old wood of the doors darkened by years of weather and hands that had pushed through them.

Jensen chose it for exactly that reason. It was Catholic. Foreign enough to him that he would be just another quiet stranger slipping into a pew, but not so obscure as to feel abandoned. He wasn’t here for novelty. He was here for a place where no one would know his name. Where no one would look twice.

The nave was warm, filled with the low murmur of prayers and the scent of incense that seemed to sink into the stone itself. Midnight Mass. Candles flickered in their brass holders. Children yawned against their mothers’ shoulders. Families gathered close, coats draped across pews.

Jensen slid into a seat near the back, leaving distance between himself and the nearest worshippers. He did not belong among them. He knew it in the tightness of his chest, but he bowed his head when they bowed, rose when they rose, murmured the words he half-remembered. It was enough to pass as one of them, even if the motions felt borrowed.

His mind was elsewhere anyway. With Rachel’s trembling hand in his, with the sudden light that had returned to her eyes. With Emily’s relief, with her gratitude. He’d left them to their celebration, but the image of them lingered. For one evening he had been a miracle worker. A vessel. A man who could pluck nightmares out of the air and leave peace behind. And now he was, what? Nothing again. Adrift?

His thoughts slid toward Jessika. His wife, ex-wife, widowed wife - he wasn't sure how to think of her. She was here in Moscow now, walking halls of power, wielding authority like it had always belonged to her. He hadn’t spoken to her tonight. He wasn’t even sure he could if he wanted to. But the knowledge pressed on him all the same, stirring up memories best left buried.

The service passed in solemn rhythm. When the priest dismissed them, the congregation drifted out into the winter air in small clusters, voices muted with emotion and weather alike. Jensen followed behind, his steps indirect but steady.

Outside, the cold bit sharp against his cheeks. He pulled his coat closer and was about to cross the street when something caught his eye: a statue set off to one side of the churchyard. A lone angel carved of pale stone, weather-softened but still graceful. Its wings arched behind it, its face lifted slightly toward the sky.

Snow had gathered along the folds of its robe and the curve of its shoulders, softening its lines, but its presence felt like it was watching him.

Jensen stopped before it while the crowd drift on by, their voices disappearing into the night. He studied the angel in the dim light, the way its expression seemed almost tired, yet resolute. A guardian, still standing after years of wind and cold.

He lingered a moment longer, the breath from his lips clouding the air, before lowering his eyes.

The days following Nox’s healing hadn’t been easy. It had been filled with anxiety and struggle. Thankfully her struggles were easier now. She touched base with Hayden as much as she could. That was helping. Her work for Sage had taken a back seat for a bit. She had trouble focusing. Marta had ordered some parts for her computer though.

It was Christmas Eve, and she and Ricky had headed to Midnight Mass. So really now it was Christmas Day. Splash was of course with them wearing her emotional support vest. Marta’s hand had rarely left the handle, keeping her wolf companion close. It really was a good thing that Splash was smaller and could pass for a dog.

Mass ended and Marta and Ricky waited to leave. Marta had expressed the need to wait as things cleared up a bit. Moving in the crowd would stoke her anxiety. When the crowd thinned, the pair of people and the small wolf stood to leave. Marta bundle up. She was getting used to the cold, but growing up in Mexico had acclimated her to warmer climes. She sighed. Soon enough she would be home and could take out the infernal contacts that hid her wolf eyes.

The crisp air hit them as they exited. They began to walk, but a man caught Marta’s attention. He had moved to cross the street, but then seemingly distracted, he turned and headed to a statue of an angel. A cold breeze brought his scent to Marta’s nostrils. It was odd. A mix of feelings. Sadness, maybe, confusion, and maybe some other things. Marta’s eyes stayed on the man. It wasn’t her wolf abilities that brought the thought to her mind.

This man was special.

Marta didn’t know how she knew it. She had learned to read people. Her wolf abilities amplified this, but it was still a natural talent. Marta was aware that Ricky said something to her, but her mind was occupied and she began to walk towards him, her hand still holding on to Splash’s handle. Splash padded next to her.

”You okay, mister?” she asked him quietly and respectfully. Marta turned to look at the statue and continue before he could answer. ”Do you know who that is?” Marta looked back at him expectantly. She wondered what had drawn this man to the angel statue.

Ricky had kept an eye on Marta. She had been completely forthcoming with what had happened when Nox had gotten healed, but Ricky couldn't deny that it was taking time for her to work through it. It was hard to not be worried, but truthfully, Ricky had seen Marta in significantly worse states. Talking with her psychologist helped and talking with Hayden helped too. Marta was becoming increasingly self-aware of her own limitations, triggers, and on figuring out what she needed to get better. Sometimes it required more help and sometimes it just required more time. Marta ensured Ricky it was the latter.

Ricky still noted, however, how Marta kept hold of Splashes vest handle. The wolf pup was always a significant help for her. At her request, Ricky waited until the crowd at Mass began to disperse before leaving the church. Ricky stopped abruptly as Marta did. He followed her gaze to a man, walking to a lone statue. Marta's eyes didn't move.

"Marta, you okay?" he asked her quietly, noting the slight flair of her nostrils that indicated she had caught the man's scent on the wind.

Marta didn't speak, answering by beginning to approach the man with her companion in tow. Ricky looked towards the man. He could have stopped Marta, and she probably would have listened. It wasn't because of mistrust. The man was standing quietly, head bowed, almost as if in prayer. Given the location, it could be a distinct possibility. But Ricky didn't. Marta was good at reading people, and it wasn't just her wolf senses that did it. Ricky was learning to not only allow the thirteen year old to grow, but to trust her instincts. Besides, she hardly ever approached strangers, and she certainly never approached male strangers. Marta saw something in this man - possibly something she didn't even yet understand.

So Ricky followed and listened as Marta spoke to the man, simply asking the man if he was okay and if he knew who the angel was. "I'm sorry, sir. I hope she's not disturbing your prayer." Ricky spoke quietly, but with curiosity. He had no idea what was going on in Marta's mind, but he sort of wanted to find out. He hoped the man would be amenable to humoring her.

Marta's face only glanced in his direction before moving back to the stranger's - a small acknowledgement that she knew Ricky was there. Still she looked up at the stranger with an expectant gaze, waiting for his reply. Ricky was able to keep both in sight, but his attention was more on Marta. This was curious behavior for her.