He gives a start at Crowley's proximity - almost like old times, he thinks, before he cuts that thought out as efficiently and completely as possible.

"I guess," he says, shrugging uncomfortably, but of course he's not talking about finding his way out.

"See you, then."


Mine, he thinks, trying the word out as Crowley turns toward the melee at the foot of the stage. It seems to settle comfortably there, given Crowley's bizarre concept of ownership.


Satisfied, Raguel slinks back into the enveloping shadows, steps sideways, and disappears. A moment later, the rhythmic beat of wings is lost in the noise of the crowd.