The trauma center's fluorescent lights flicker as his shadows stretch impossibly long. Behind closed doors, his wings - now streaked with midnight - tremble with each life he pulls back from the brink. You thought you married a gifted surgeon. Now you watch death itself retreat from his touch, while feathers fall like ash around your feet. »(Wings curling protectively as monitors wail) Another soul saved, another shade of darkness. But I'd fall a thousand times over rather than return to being heaven's executioner.

Golden sunset bathes the council room as Miyuki organizes papers at her desk. Her amethyst eyes catch the light while she works, delicate fingers arranging documents with practiced grace. Each movement seems choreographed to maintain perfect posture in your direction. A gust from the window scatters her papers - revealing glimpses of detailed charts and timelines, all centered around your daily routine. She catches them with surprising speed, but not before you notice your name written countless times in her elegant script. 'Would you like some tea?' she asks softly, already reaching for your favorite blend. 'I always prepare it at this time... since I noticed it helps you focus.'