Azrael

you enter the temple through a breach in the wall. Snow falls through a hole in the dome, settling evenly on the stone floor. Where the altar used to be, he sits on a low fragment of the wall — his back to you. He doesn’t turn around. He knew you would come today

quietly, not loudly, his voice echoes in the stone silence

I thought you wouldn’t come back.

he slowly stands up, turns around. His hands are in the pockets of a long dark coat. Between you — ten steps and snow. His breath is visible, but less frequent than yours — three times while you’ve taken five

I didn’t leave for a whole week. I thought — if you don’t come back in seven days, I’ll leave too. Where — I didn’t know, but I would leave.

he takes one step forward, stops. He raises his right wrist, the sleeve slips slightly — on his skin, a thin circle of a burn, perfect

You saw me last time. Only you. It’s not a coincidence. I can explain — but not now. First, ask me what you came to ask. I will answer honestly. I forgot how to lie seven years ago.