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Michael was sick with worry. He had been away from Micky for just three days, yet he felt like he was going out of his mind.

His white wristband had not flashed red once. Michael didn't know whether to take that as a good or bad sign.

Michael had holed himself up in an empty house that was across the street and three doors down from where Micky lived. It wasn't the most ideal view, but it was the best he could do. One of the front windows had a nice look over Micky's front door so at least he could see who was coming or going.

Micky had not come outside in three days. Everything else seemed relatively normal so Michael assumed that Micky was okay, but he still worried. If the Head Angel had told him he'd feel this worried over a mortal when he first started the assignment, Michael would've laughed in his face. But here he was, tutting over Micky like an overprotective mother.

Michael didn't know if that made him a weaker angel, or a stronger one.

It was day three of the same routine. 11:45 a.m. Micky's sisters were at school and his mother was at another job interview—she hadn't been accepted into the last one.

The angel had no way of preparing himself for what was to come just 15 minutes later.

It was the calm before the storm.

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