Confident by Demi Lovato. Listen to The Song of Wings Playlist while you read! Here's my Discord Link if you want to check it out!

Lowering her head, Kate apologized softly, “Michael, I’m sorry. The mission got out of hand. Lucifer said he had something important to tell me, and I thought it concerned the shapeshifter.” Her hazel eyes gazed at him sorrowfully. “Not to blame this on your brother, but don’t you think it was a bit convenient he was there when Pitch was?”

“Yes,” Michael replied. He acknowledged her heartfelt sadness about the mission going astray: “Katerina, I do apologize for snapping at you earlier. There is no excuse for that. Don’t beat yourself up.” He said, “Remember, Prowlers and Harmonies’ jobs are harder than we can expect. Things jump out of us when we least expect them, but we plow through them. You and Sara did remarkably well.”

Kate smiled, and happiness was glowing on her face. She said, "Thanks; I needed to hear that. Do you need help?”

“No, I’m good. Go get some rest; you deserve it.”

Beaming with renewed spirits, Kate left to take her well-deserved time off.

Teleporting into the basement and not wasting a beat, he hurried to the prison and was too impatient to wait for the deadlock to whirl the hatchet door open. Upon entering the cell, his priority was to see if his daughter was safe.

Sara looked like she was half asleep, her back pressed against the wall, her head slightly on her shoulders, and her eyelids partly shut. She jerked up once the door clanged with a bang and leaped up with overjoy at seeing him.

“Father!” she gasped and hugged him. “How was the bank? Is everyone okay?”

Responding tenderly to her, Michael sneered at Pitch and Lucifer, “It went fine. Are you alright, sweetie?”

Sara nodded and looked unharmed, besides blinking tirelessly to stay awake.

With his now relaxed shoulders, he wrapped his arm protectively around her. He looked dead on at the High-warlock behind the invisible barrier. Michael snarled, losing his sweet tone seconds ago, “Are you Thomas Pitch or some prankster with nothing else to do?”

Yawning as loudly as he could, Pitch clearly couldn’t care less if he disrespected the Archangel. He smirked. “Since you are so wise, you should know the answer already.”

“If you claim yourself to be Thomas Pitch, how are you still alive?” Michael asked provocatively, his grip tightening on Sara. There was no point in hiding that she was his daughter anymore.

A chuckle rumbled deep within Pitch’s throat. Cocking his head to one side as he observed the father-daughter relationship, he said, “Why should I tell you when it is funnier seeing you dumbly suffer in figuring me out?”

Clutching his jaw, Michael snapped, “Since you are in this prison and never getting out, with only a death sentence in your wake, there’s no use hiding who you are!”

Pitch plopped on the twin bed, a sinister glint in his lavender eyes. “Am I Doctor Thomas Pitch, the most powerful and dazzling warlock in the world that you couldn’t manage to execute properly?” He laughed tauntingly. “The answer is standing right in front of you.”

“Lucifer, what do you think?” Michael questioned him bitterly.

“Unless shapeshifters have evolved, which there have been no indications until now, he has to be Thomas Pitch.” The Devil responded, never leaving his sight of his brother holding Sara protectively.

Unable to bear Gala’s mocking gaze at him, Michael said with a shaky, disbelieving breath, “I’m going to kill you at midnight, no matter if I get the information or not from you.” He stepped forward, glaring in desist at how this man was fooling him. “And this time, you aren’t escaping fate.”

Michael scowled at Lucifer and said, “You are coming with me, I have questions.” Motioning for Sara and his brother to go first in front of him before closing the door, he waved his hand and teleported them into his empty office.

Turning to his daughter, Michael said, “Thank you for helping me out. I need to talk to Lucifer alone; do you need anything?”

Sara shook her head, glancing at the Devil, who was oddly staring at them. “No, Father. Good night.”

Desiring to kiss her on her forehead, Michael pushed his affections later. He couldn’t look soft-hearted toward his brother. He watched her leave with sadness. When the door shut behind her, his heart drummed with love, and he had almost forgotten that tomorrow was her birthday.

He wished to be buying her presents and spoiling her rotten; yet, here he was, standing in the same room with Lucifer. Michael was certain his twin was further along in this disaster.

“Please sit down,” Michael offered, sitting on his chair and studying Lucifer’s every move to see any clues if he had aided in Pitch’s escape from his death nine years ago or if they were collaborating.

His mind begged to focus on his daughter’s birthday instead, and he kicked himself for forgetting this late. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to take care of the business first. Michael inquired, ignoring the tension choking in the room, “Are you and Pitch working together?”

Lucifer’s blank expression flipped into a sour one, nearly accusing Michael of doing something. He growled, “Why would you think I'd work for that bastard? I left you to deal with him. However, you couldn’t get one simple job down, so my Infernals are suffering from your slip-up.”

“And currently, you are shifting the pathetic blame on me instead of your incompetence.” Lucifer scoffed in disbelief. “Now, you dare to ask me if I am working with Pitch when I wanted him dead in the first place.”

A hard lump formed somewhere deep within the Archangel’s throat; nothing scared him besides Lucifer. He wanted to deny every single one of his brother’s accusations, but Lucifer was right. He had failed and tried to pin the blame on someone else.

Michael hardly made mistakes; he was a perfect angel sent from Heaven to fulfill his duty of protecting mankind. He contented himself, his voice barely holding strong. “I screwed up, but you cannot play with me when you and Pitch were close once.”

“I didn’t help Pitch escape,” Lucifer affirmed, glowering at him. “Am I lying to you?”

Not sensing any hint of lying, Michael swallowed to shove his lump of pride away. If Lucifer hadn’t let Thomas Pitch break free, who had then? He stood to his feet and said, “You may go now.”

The skeptical idea of Kate being right chewed on his brain; Pitch and Lucifer were teaming up, and his brother had been at the bank at the most convenient time.

“My turn for a question,” Lucifer said, rising and cutting in before Michael could protest. “Do you even miss her?”

Staring flummoxed at his twin brother, Michael answered and felt he had been punched in the gut. He disliked Lucifer for always having to bring her up. “Of course I do. Every day, my heart aches for her.”

Lucifer’s nails dug into his palms, desiring to smash Michael’s face into the corner of his desk, and his brains spilled out of his skull. Instead, he bit on his bottom lips until he tasted iron and swirled on his heels, not wanting to see that so-called innocent, angelic face that masked every horrible deed he had done.

“I’ll let my Choir escort you out,” said Michael.

“I don’t need your damn Choir to ‘escort’ me out,” the Devil hissed. He twirled around at Michael, and a maleficent pair of black wings spread out in the air. He flapped his wings once, and a sly grin twitched up on the corners of his bloody mouth. “Tell your daughter I wish her a happy birthday.” The wings folded around him, and hellfire flamed on them, and in the next instinct, he disappeared.

Michael didn’t need to ponder why Lucifer stated that. Just to mess with my head, and how did he know when her birthday was? Panic rose inside his chest, but he breathed it out. Sara had probably told him, although not to his liking.

He dialed Demetrius, hating to disturb Kate or Sara to do an imperative task. Her brothers were also Michael’s sidekicks, but not to the degree she was, but close enough for him to trust them enough to do important work. “Hey Demetrius, are you busy?”

“Um, no,” Demetrius replied, his tone wondering why the Archangel called him. He never called unless it was bad news about his sister or something critical.

“Would you mind digging into the files of the night of Pitch’s execution? I need footage of what exactly happened. I have to find out who met him during his stay with us.” Michael would’ve done it, but he had to speak with Timothy and Nathan.

“Sure,” said Demetrius, a mix of uncertainty ringing out.

The day had flown so quickly but was painfully slow at the same time. The night had only begun to get down to the business of searching for what had happened. “Thank you,” Michael responded coolly, but his hands gripped the telephone and his knuckles were white. As time wore on, he was convinced this person wasn’t any regular Gala to joke about. “Let’s find out who helped Thomas Pitch escape."