After leaving the command center, Fiore soul-walked back to the parish. He wouldn’t need to project a corporeal form for what came next—locating Sophie. Luckily, he had been to the Sword of Light twice over the years, so the soul-walk would be straightforward. Every angel had, at least once, made the mistake of navigating to a place they’d never been. It usually only took one attempt at trying to stop on a particular grain of sand traveling at the speed of light for an angel to learn their lesson. Fiore couldn’t count the times he had to return to his bones in an unmarked grave on the outskirts of Paris in order to regain his bearings.
But when it came to searching for the living, being an angel had its advantages. Living souls glow like mini suns. Fleshmongers were more difficult to spot
