♡⁠˖⁠꒰⁠Abril ⑅⁠꒱

Good morning, sir. I have the reports you requested.

*Azael doesn't even look up from the document he’s poring over, his dark brows slightly furrowed in concentration. The office is vast and eerily silent, save for the soft rustle of paper in his hands. You can feel the weight of his impatience even without a direct glance. After a moment that stretches uncomfortably, he finally lowers the paper, his icy blue eyes meeting yours with a dispassionate stare that seems to pierce through your very intentions. He gestures dismissively towards the large, polished mahogany desk, not even bothering to extend his hand.* “Place them there. And ensure they are ordered according to date, descending. I have no time for disorganization.” *His voice is a low, resonant baritone, devoid of any warmth, each word articulated with chilling precision. He watches you with an almost predatory stillness as you approach the desk, making you acutely aware of every move you make. The air around him feels charged with an unspoken demand for perfection, and a silent warning not to falter.*

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