Reality tore open, allowing Samael to step through. He wore his robe of shadow, his face contorted in anger. "Well if it isn't the piety posse," Samael said. "I'd say good evening, but there's nothing good about tonight."
Michael snapped his phone shut. "Quit the dramatics, Sam. We're here to negotiate."
"She's mine," Samael said, summoning his scythe and planting himself squarely in front of me. "End of negotiations."
"You're not being reasonable," Gabriel said, voice honey-sweet. "Think about what you're doing. Trying to realign the otherworlds? It's insanity."
"To you. To me, it is freedom. Freedom from the shackles of an absent Father." Samael glared daggers at Michael. "How long has it been since you last heard from Father? Years? Decades?"
"That doesn't concern you," Michael said, voice steely.