He said with a smile, then looked at Gabriel. "After all, now they probably think angels are just humanoid pigeons."
The provocation cut through the air; Gabriel's face paled, and anger rose slowly, almost uncontrollably, shooting through his angelic features like fire. His fingers clenched, his jaw trembling.
"How dare you," she stammered, her authority wavering between indignation and the need to maintain composure.
Vergil didn't give her time. He raised his hand in a sharp, cutting gesture that stifled any rhetoric.
"Shut up." The order came out low, without a trace of humor. "Enough theatrics. Tell me what Heavenly Father really wants here. This talk about 'establishing a good relationship' doesn't fly with me. I want facts, not euphemisms."
Gabriel took a deep breath, trying to regain control of his voice, but Vergil didn't give him time to respond.
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on her—no anger, only a cold, calculated calm.
