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  In the darkness before him, a figure slowly filtered into view.

  First, the wings: undersized and gossamer-thin. Then the body deepened in color just enough for Noah to see a small, pale angel sharing his Announcer. Noah did not know him. The angels features were soft and innocent-looking, like a babys. In the cramped tunnel, his fine blond hair blew across his silver eyes in the wind that Daniels wings sent back each time they pulsed. He looked so young, but of course, he was just as old as any of them.

  Who are you? Noah asked again. How did you get in here? Are you Scale?

  Yes. Despite his innocent, infantile appearance, the angels voice was gravel-deep. He reached behind his back for a moment, and Noah thought perhaps he was hiding something there--perhaps one of his kinds trapping devices--but the angel simply turned around to reveal the scar on the back of his neck. The seven-pointed gold insignia of the Scale. Im Scale. His deep v