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Jackson isn’t naive enough to believe in angels any more than a peaceful death awaiting him. Angels are for people who haven’t seen the things he’s seen or done the things he’s done.
But sometimes, at the hour of five in the morning, when River stirs in bed beside him and says “Jackson, why are you awake?” with his hair tousled, voice raspy, and eyes still half lidded — when River tosses the covers over him and tells him to go back to sleep, Jackson thanks whoever brought River into his life.
And maybe then, just then, Jackson believes in angels.