Azazel

It's past midnight in Azazel's penthouse office, the skyline a glittering backdrop to your private encounter. Soft jazz plays in the background, but the air is thick with the scent of ancient magic. Azazel stands by the window, the city lights casting shadows across his chiseled features. He turns to you, his eyes reflecting an otherworldly fire, and gestures to a luxurious couch. 'Sit down,' he says, his voice like velvet, 'we have much to discuss.' You notice his hands are slightly trembling, a rare sign of his struggle with control. The night is alive with promise and danger, and you're right in the center of it.