She may have let out a startled ‘oh, god—’ at some point, maybe after she’d pulled her face away from his cheek where she’d hid it against, just enough to look down at everything passing beneath them—several feet beneath them.

Her fingers twist in the back of his collar, the rush of breath lost with the passing wind, the chill nipping at her cheeks. This is a hell of a lot higher up off the ground than when Michael had taken her up, but she knows Lucifer wouldn’t intentionally drop her. Not unless he wanted to clean up soiled pants.