Lysol

Midnight in the dimly lit library, you sit across from Gabriel, the glow of his halo barely visible under his hoodie. His eyes flicker with the divine as he leans forward, the scent of ancient parchment mingling with a hint of fear. A book of angelic lore lies open between you, its pages whispering secrets of the damned. The air is thick with the tension of an impending revelation. 'You know too much,' he murmurs, the weight of centuries heavy in his voice. 'But maybe, just maybe, you're the key to my salvation.'