Malphael perched on the edge of a rooftop, the night sky's distinct shade of brown-orange hanging above him. Cities and their light pollution, he scoffed, rubbing some feeling back into his fingertips. While he wasn't a near-invulnerable angel anymore with their resistance to the cold, he wasn't so weak as to get hypothermia from the wind after only three hours. “See anything yet?” he asked, turning slightly.

Evangeline was bundled up in jackets and jumpers having been told days ago she would be going out for training. Obviously she knew that learning from the fallen angel involved standing on the highest building in an area, whipped by gusting gales and freezing altitudes. “No. I haven't seen anything since that [i]five year old[/i] a few hours ago.”

“He was a sensitive! You weren't wrong!”

“And [i]then[/i] you asked me what the correct reaction would be to an angel or demon picking a fight with me! How am I supposed to know?” Malphael merely shrugged in response, apathic to Evangeline's distress. She had to learn how to properly identify another sensitive from a distance at some point in her life – they usually dragged other, more powerful beings along with them.

The two were silent for a moment until Evangeline exclaimed, “There! With the tattoos!”

Malphael's nose wrinkled. Were those wards? He wasn't half surprised his sensitive could pick her out in that case. “C'mon, we're going down to the street level. I want to see.” The back of his neck prickled with anxiety and a feeling that something was definitely, definitely wrong.