He quickly skimmed over the message, though he knew that nothing was misspelled.

Gods simply do not make spelling errors.

His hands fold his phone into silk lined pockets as he made her way across the empty atrium, the cold echoing of his patent leather shoes reverberating across the marble.

This was old-fashioned, going by foot.

Once he had shoes with wings on them. Though this was in a time when people were more likely to believe that men with shoes could fly place to place. Now he was left in a corporate engine that managed produce truckloads of new machines, keeping people “connected”, though it was a loose use of the word.

Every now and then he liked to swipe a watch or a wallet, keeping old habits in practice. Smiling at the memory, he stepped into an elevator

His smile disappeared as his pocket began to hiss.



Always ringing.