An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“You give your guys a night out?” Angel lets out a low whistle. “I’m under contract with the wrong Overlord.” It’s meant to sound flirty and light; it comes out far more serious than it should.
“That can be corrected,” Alastor murmurs. His voice is low but clear, oddly free of static.
Angel blinks twice. “Don’t think Val’s looking to trade, Al.”
“Good thing a trade isn’t what I had in mind.” Alastor’s smile flashes, and static spikes. The lights of the hotel briefly dim. He offers Angel the fresh drink he’d just made. “More of a… vacancy. At the top.”
Alastor is preparing to make a move. In multiple ways.
Angel isn't looking for a way out of his bad situation. But nothing in his life, or death, has ever gone the way he'd planned it before.









