Combat training had not stopped with the cancellation of the war. It stayed exactly as it had been for thousands of years, to maintain normalcy and preparation just in case everything started up again. As disobedience was a rarity among angels, overseeing this training had been Uriel's regular job for thousands of years.

It was also one that was subject to very regular oversight.

"Uriel!"

She turned to the open arms of Gabriel, and forced herself to relax into a militarily-straight posture instead. "Gabriel, Sandalphon." Her voice tightened slightly as she added, "Michael. To what do we owe the honor?"

Sandalphon caught the change in tone, and he glanced at Michael from the corner of his eye. Michael put on his professional smile and Gabriel, who'd caught none of this, beamed as normal.

"Michael had pointed out how long it's been since we observed your progress. And since we had a free period between meetings this is a perfect time!"

"Is there an issue with us coming?" Michael asked, brows raised just so.

"Of course not," Uriel said, quickly. "I just wish I could have escorted you properly." She turned back to the angels under her command and announced a maneuver to perform.

Sandalphon and Gabriel watched the soldiers as they normally did, but Michael never took his eyes off Uriel. She never looked back, but she could feel his gaze boring into her.

How close was he? It had to be significantly more than before if he was ready to bring the others along. But maybe the investigation had stalled or failed, and he was just trying to bluff?

Uriel hated not knowing. And it killed her that she couldn't check her phone which was locked on the bookshop's observation feed. It was set to ding as soon as the car left, but being able to watch it made her feel better. There was no chance with the others there, though.

As was proper for someone trying to get away with something, the phone chimed minutes before the demonstration was set to end.

Uriel clapped her hands and called, "That's enough for today." She turned to the other Archangels. "With the war potentially restarting any day now, we can't risk over-use injuries."

"Well, it was a wonderful display! Excellent work." Gabriel told her with a large smile and a round of applause that the other archangels joined out of obligation.

Uriel nodded to them. "Thank you. If you'll excuse me."

She moved around them and hurried back to her office. Only after the door was closed did she pull her phone out to check.

The Bentley had just pulled away from the shop, and was still visible down the road.

She tucked the phone back into her pocket, took a breath, and headed down to Earth.

It was only a few minutes before Michael also headed into the office and, upon finding it empty, headed for the globe to follow her down.

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he took a customer (though, far more specifically, Crowley)-free moment to dust the front of the shop. It was amazing how much it accumulated on these old books. Depending on the age, it might not take terribly much to damage them so it had to be attended to.

He kept his back turned when the door chime rang out. He gave a half-hearted 'welcome' because it'd be rude to say nothing at all, but he paused long enough to make sure they knew he didn't mean it.

"Aziraphale."

He practically dropped the duster as he spun around quickly. The last thing anyone should do was have their back to an Archangel.

"Uriel…! What a pleasant surprise." He took a few steps backwards.

She took a few steps forward, though she kept a notable distance between them. A gilded scabbard hung at her side, and her hand rested on the hilt.

An Angel's sword could be summoned at a whim, anywhere and everywhere, and certainly didn't need something as crude as a scabbard. They both knew this, which was entirely the point.

"I know it was you," She said, voice as cold as the expression on her face.

"I can't even begin to imagine what you mean!" He laughed nervously. Aziraphale edged towards the back room, though he was sure trying to run would make a bad situation already worse.

"You've been following me like a demon," she said with a step forward that confirmed his fears. "And trying to take my book. What are you up to?"

"Well, then this is an easy fix!" Aziraphale said with his hands up and the largest smile he could manage. "I don't want the book!"

She grabbed the hilt of her sword harder, "So you were just trying to scare me?"

"Wh- No! No! I… I did want the book before. I collect them." He motioned around the room. "You see? I wasn't trying to do anything nefarious! I just thought a simple transaction-"

"A what?"

He held up his hands, "Its not bad, it's just an exchange. I give you something, and get the book in return. Simple. I wouldn't hurt it, or tell anyone, it'd just stay here."

As Uriel looked around the room, her face slowly moved from anger to confusion. "Why do you do this?"

"Because, well… Because I like reading them and caring for them… And your poetry was wonderful."

She hesitated, then admitted softly. "It's not mine ."

"There's a kind of poetry that takes bits of other works and puts them together," he explained. "It's the arrangement that gives it meaning. And your choices, well… I honestly never thought I would hear from Bartholemew of York ever again, but I loved it."

"I… I didn't think anyone knew his poetry," She said. Her voice was tinged with more eagerness than she'd hoped. "His work burned and he… well, he wasn't the sort who ended up on Heaven's list."

"Womanizing, thieving alcoholics don't tend to, no," Aziraphale agreed. "But he had an amazing voice."

"He did." She looked around the room of books. "I suppose that…"

The door chimed again, and they both turned to look.

Crowley stood in the doorway. One arm held the takeout bags, and the other hand gripped on the door until his knuckles turned white.

"Oh…" Aziraphale's smile twitched nervously. "Crowley, this is Uriel. Uriel… I'm sure you remember Crowley."