Michael would disagree with his assessment, as he so often does. Wanda has far more to worry about from Lucifer than from him. Even then, from what casual use he's seen of her powers, she has little to worry about from anyone except the Singularity itself.

He approaches his brother but stops a few feet away, just far enough that neither of them could hit each other with their wings if this turns ugly. Standard archangel personal space.

"I don't believe that for a moment," he says. This is Lucifer, after all, and the day his little brother stops manipulating others for kicks is the same day he dies and stays dead. "And this is not a game, this is you invading my domain. Though you did always manage to derive amusement from that sort of thing."

His eyes narrow, though his expression is more evaluating than it is unhappiness or aggression. On closer inspection, this is not his brother as he remembers him. It's more than the threadbare grace. Lucifer is a shade too young—too early.

"How long have you been here?"

Lucifer can't reside in Solvunn. Michael is sure he would have noticed him by now. He must be from one of the other zones, and Michael doesn't have eyes or ears in either Thorne or the Free Cities.