"Isn't that the daughter of Alfred Peyton?" one of the junior cupids sitting in the penitentiary asked, his voice low but curious, eyes fixed on the blonde-haired cupid slumped at the very end of the line with one hand glued to her face like she could disappear behind it.

The room was as dull as always—rows of pearl-toned benches lined the pale, sterile chamber, lit by an overhead glow that was a little too white, too clean, like it had been ripped straight out of a dentist's office. Outside the glass-paned arch behind the registrar's desk, soft pink clouds drifted lazily across a cotton-candy sky—mocking, perhaps, the storm clouds currently hovering over Maya Peyton's head.

Alfred Peyton was a name sung with reverence across the cupid realm. One of the legendary few to ever orchestrate love so potent it rewrote fate. A master of impossible bonds—lovers born centuries apart, enemies brought to embrace, hearts broken and perfectly reassembled. A genius. Now a member of the revered Seven Cupid Council—untouchable, invisible, unreachable. Even to his daughter.

The other junior cupids turned their heads almost in unison, eyes wide as they recognized her.

"Wow, yeah, that's Maya Peyton," Frederick whispered with poorly disguised awe.

It was hard not to recognize her. Even now, sitting like a deflated balloon in the middle of Cupid County's walk of shame, Maya glowed in that oddly tragic way only a mess with potential could. Light blue eyes, soft as sea glass and far too expressive. Lips like watercolor roses. Silky pale skin. Beautiful. Disastrous. A two-legged paradox with glitter still stuck to her elbows from a botched romance festival last week.

Frederick frowned a little. "But why's she here?" he whispered. "Isn't this for, like, total mission failure?"

The penitentiary wasn't a jail, not technically, but it might as well have been. Designed for failed missions, it was where junior cupids were sent to report in, reflect, and recalibrate. It was clinical. Quiet. And most of all, humiliating. Senior cupids didn't show up here. They didn't need to. Not unless they'd completely derailed an assignment in such spectacular fashion that no amount of glitter or arrows could fix it.

From the end of the line, Maya peeked between her fingers. Her face was a mix of defeat and mild terror, and her hair was tied in a messy ponytail that didn't quite capture all of it—several blonde strands had frizzed out at the top, giving her the look of someone who'd stuck her head out a moving chariot. A red smudge was on her elbow. Her tunic was slightly crooked. And her left wing had a noticeable bend in it, like she'd crash-landed straight into a lamppost before dragging herself here.

"Maya Peyton," a bemused voice called from the main office.

She flinched so hard the file in her hand flew up a little before she caught it.

After a desperate glance at the whispering cupids and perhaps a prayer to the nearest sky spirit to just delete her from the situation entirely, she stood and shuffled toward the door like she was headed to a guillotine rather than an administrative office.

The door clicked shut behind her, and she entered Morales's space.

His office was everything the outer room wasn't—warm-toned wood with soft golden light cascading through vine-laced windowpanes, and faint ambient harp music playing from an enchanted orb in the corner. The walls were covered in shelves stacked with books, case scrolls, glowing love crystals, and one framed letter from Alfred Peyton himself. Of course.

Maya tiptoed in like a guilty pigeon, clutching her case file to her chest as if it might shield her from consequences. She sat down gingerly, crossing her ankles, straightening them, then crossing them again. Her wings twitched.

"You're a senior cupid, right?" Morales asked, without looking up.

He was leafing through parchment like the whole celestial system wasn't cracking at the seams. His fingers were long, precise. His silver-grey eyes barely flicked toward her, and yet she somehow felt seen. Not the good kind.

Maya stared at the top of his head. He had perfectly combed ash-brown hair and a jawline that could inspire a painting. She hated how much she noticed these things.

"You planning to speak, or is this one of those silent protest cases?" Morales asked again, voice as crisp as ever.

"I—yes. Yes. I am," she stammered. "Speaking. Going to speak."

She hated how fast her heart thudded whenever she was in this office. She hated that she'd been here so many times she could probably draw the interior with her eyes closed.

"Maya," he said in that tone she both adored and feared.

She quickly placed the file on his desk, like it might burst into flames if she held it too long.

Morales sighed, flipping it open. "Headquarters will send in backup. I'll file the paperwork and let you know the ruling in two hours. Until then, try not to cause another cosmic rupture."

"Of course," she whispered, already backing out of the office like it might eat her.

She took one last glance at him, because she was Maya Peyton and self-sabotage was practically a love language at this point. And then she fled.

The door closed softly behind her. Morales pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alfred, your daughter is going to be the death of me," he muttered to the file.

-Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, leave your comments on what you thought of it.

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