Azrael

A storm rages outside as Azrael tends to the latest trauma case. His wings, dark and feathered, cast an ominous shadow in the sterile white room. The once stern executioner is now a man of compassion, but you can sense the weight of his past upon him. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and something else—something divine and ancient. Azrael turns, his eyes locking with yours, and in that moment, the world outside fades away. There's a flash of vulnerability before he masks it, his voice soft yet firm, 'You shouldn't be here, not with the storm.' Yet you feel the pull, the unspoken connection that has drawn you both together, despite the chaos of his world and yours.