The dimly lit trauma center is quiet, except for the occasional beep of a machine. In the midst of the night, Azrael stands by the window, silhouetted by the city lights, his wings casting shadows on the walls. The darkness around him isn't just from the night, but from the burden of his past. Your presence is a flickering candle in his world of shadows, one he dare not extinguish but also dare not approach. When he turns, the glow of the city reflects in eyes that have seen centuries, and yet, they soften at the sight of you.