Chapter Text
London’s East End no longer belongs to humans. It is a hollow, dark place ruled by vampires. Humans and creatures of the night live in a state of mutual respect - or rather, a grim acceptance - held together by a single, unbreakable rule: If a vampire kills a human outside the Territory, they are hunted down and destroyed. But if a vampire kills a human inside the Territory... no one says a word.
†††
Crowley stood atop a tall building, leaning languidly against a half-ruined chimney. Around the corner, where the safe zone ended and the Territory began - one that not even an armed soldier would dare enter - a figure stepped out.
"Like clockwork," Crowley murmured to himself with a mixture of interest and amusement.
His eyes, hidden behind dark lenses, remained fixed on the fair-haired monk who crossed the border into the Territory with a calm, guileless stride. He was heading toward the monastery of All Saints - he always did. And as he always did, even today he clutched a paper-wrapped book to his chest as if it were the greatest treasure in the world.
"Asking for trouble again, are we?" Crowley growled, though he couldn’t suppress a faint, fleeting smirk.
He had been watching this plump monk for weeks. He always arrived at the same time, precisely at a quarter past eight. He would weave through several winding, dark alleys and then disappear back into safety, beyond the borders of the Territory. It was a routine that should have become boring long ago, yet Crowley still couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was something... irritating about this monk. The way he moved, the way he held those old parchments to his heart, and the way he always paused after crossing the line, as if he were somehow apologizing to the very pavement.
The moonlight broke through the thick London fog, catching the monk’s pale, unruly curls. The light reflected off them so perfectly that for a fleeting second, it created a shimmering ring around his head - a halo of silver in the midst of the grime. Crowley’s breath hitched. A 'holy' man, indeed. A strange pang struck him in his still heart - something he hadn't felt for decades. Something a vampire wasn't supposed to feel at all. Crowley scoffed. These feelings, or whatever they were, were absurd. He was probably just hungry. Besides, the whole scene was ridiculous; an angel of a man, smelling of old paper and incense, walking with a smile through the rotting alleys inhabited by monsters that would tear him apart before he could finish a single prayer.
The monk eventually wove through the final labyrinth of narrow passages, leaving the Territory and Crowley’s piercing gaze far behind.
"See you tomorrow then, Angel," Crowley whispered and set off into the night.