Hasiel opened his eyes.

It was mid-morning, gray outside, and Phelan’s apartment was just as it was the first time he had visited it, with the exception that a gray jumper now hung over the back of the chair in the bedroom he lay in the bed of, along with other clothes less generously roomy and longer than Phelan’s.

From a different room he could hear the sounds of a radio faintly, as well as movement. Phelan was probably making breakfast.