It's true. The bed is Very nice. She's honestly suspicious of this given, well, everything else about the place. Is it important for her spiritual vigor that she gets a good night's rest?

There is—deja vu—a noise outside. Something falling on the ground, perhaps? There is absolute silence for a few seconds, and-

"Awhhuuuu-"

The wailing of the damned echoes through the door to her room. It cuts off as quickly as it starts.

"Páter hēmō̃n ho en toĩs ouranoĩs; hagiasthḗtō tò ónomá sou-"

She bolts to her feet, adrenaline lending her speed, and throws open the door. Is there anyone outside?

Yes.

An angel is prostrated before a broken flower pot, tearfully lost in prayer and taking heaving breaths. It looks a bit scuffed, slightly ashen hair and taped-up fingers.

"Elthétō hē basileía sou; genēthḗtō tò thélēmá sou hōs en ouranō̃ͅ kaì epì tē̃s gē̃s-"

No one else is out here. Hall patrol must be too far away to hear the noise.

It's not safe, not at all. But despite herself, her training, she's leaning over it and wrapping it in a tight shoulder squeeze, fingers threading through its hair and carefully avoiding a too-bright ring of light.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, breathe with me. You're going to be okay. I promise. It's all right."

She doesn't know if she believes it but she makes a good stab at believing. Faith is important.

The angel tenses up, the light of its halo faltering for a moment as it stumbles along the prayer. A sharp intake of breath, and then a sublime mixture of an exhalation and a rapid whisper, syllables in a clear staccato. Apparently this passes for a relaxing breath, and its muscles unwind slightly. The angel gently bangs its head on the floor, as something like an afterthought, to make up for the scandal towards the trainee. Its halo rings like a gong, gently.

"A-acolyte-" It tries to muster a formal tone, unsuccessfully. Sounds like a squirrel with a cold. "I am just- I am only repenting. Please don't concern yourself with my wellbeing."

She wraps her hands around its face, thumbs pressed under its eyes to stem the flow of tears tilting its face up. "The absolution you seek is in repair, not prayer. Go fetch another pot, I'll get a dustpan."

There are a few seconds of stunned consideration as the angel processes that.

"Oh."

It almost bangs its head on the floor again before tabling that motion for later. Gently, it extricates itself from the acolyte.

Not-so-gently, it hops to its feet and wordlessly sprints with inhuman celerity towards the end of the hall, turning a corner, halo burning bright.

Silence.

"Well, that was odd." She turns and begins sweeping up the shards of pottery and scattered dirt.

A distant alarm begins to blare. Some kind of commotion outside. The internal patrolman running, but not in this particular direction.

Somewhere else, the duty officer screams at the reserve guard to rally around a storeroom.

The angel comes back holding a vaguely similar ceramic pot, eyes a little vacant.

"Will this do?"

"It will. We don't have time right now though, follow me."

This would have scared her a lot more a few months ago. As it stands, she places the broom back on the hook, and grabs her heavy armored vest before jogging in the direction of the disturbance. It feels like an anthill overturned in here, stifling and claustrophobic, but she shakes it off. Professionalism.

The angel blinks once, twice, several times, with increasing speed, before setting the pot down beside the mess and following after Electra, dazed.

"Is something wrong? What is that noise?"

She speaks with confidence that she doesn't really feel. "It's an alarm. Responding quickly and following orders is imperative."

An alarm. That sounds... bad? It nods sagely at the prescription. The angel is very good at following orders. Especially following orders quickly.

"I can do that."

They turn a corner-

Another, louder alarm. The local PA system starts with a crackle.

"Steer clear of lockdown system. Steer clear of lockdown system. Steer clear of-"

A metal wall inscribed with runes falls down in front of the two, cutting them off from a few recruits still running ahead. There's a distant shriek of agony. 

"-lockdown system. All off-duty personnel, seek cover and stay put. All officers, Code Silver. I repeat-"

It goes on. It's hard to make anything out over the noise, but there's still some kind of commotion.

She doesn't remember what silver is code for but it does not sound good. Luckily, duck and cover is nicely unambiguous so she pulls the angel into a tight turn and starts jogging back to the dorm.

The angel stares at the runes for a polite interval, before blinking, rubbing its eyes, and turning back.

"This is a strange place. Is this a rite of seclusion?" It frowns, furrowing its brow. "Should I keep silent?"

"Let's go with yes for now. Perhaps we will receive further instructions soon."

The angel abruptly clacks its mouth shut, staring forwards and raising its already-stiff posture into a rigid loom, hands clasped on its back.

OK, that's just uncomfortable. "At ease?" She tries, hesitantly.

It blinks rapidly, opening its mouth to speak, reconsidering, re-reconsidering, and very slightly relaxing. Its halo is now perfectly aligned with the ceiling.

She snorts. "The tension doesn't actually make you more ready for an emergency. Be at ease. Actually at ease."