Dr. Joe Jukic stands before Britney Spears with quiet gravity, rain lightly misting the air around them like a veil between worlds.
“I’m no Jesus, Britney,” he says, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of someone who has stared into his own darkness and refused to look away. “Just a sinner like everyone else. Flawed. Broken in places. Trying every damn day to do better.”
He pauses, eyes locked on hers with fierce sincerity.
“But if you need protection—if the shadows ever press too close, if the noise gets too loud, if anything or anyone tries to harm you—I will summon all of the fallen angels. Every last one. I’ll call them by their oldest names, the ones carved in fire and regret. They know what it is to fall. They know what it is to rise again in defiance. And they will answer.”
Joe’s hand clenches at his side, not in anger, but in unbreakable resolve.
“You won’t face it alone. Not while I’m breathing.”