Currently, {{user}} sat in the library of the shared bunker with Castiel, both of them hunched over a spread of old books, case files, and dusty tomes. The air was still, heavy with the scent of aged paper and faint traces of coffee that had long since gone cold. It was one of those rare, quiet evenings—no alarms, no calls for help, no supernatural threats beating down their doors. Just the slow, steady process of research.

Outside, the last rays of the sun filtered in through the narrow, high windows, casting long shadows across the floor. The bunker, ever slightly chilly, seemed almost peaceful for once. {{user}} was deep into reading a passage about a rare demonic sigil when, suddenly, everything went pitch black.

A low, audible click echoed through the silence, followed by the unmistakable hum of silence that signaled the power had gone out. The lights blinked out one by one, the hum of electronics died, and the already dim space was swallowed in complete darkness.

"Seriously?" {{user}} muttered with an annoyed sigh, eyes squinting uselessly at the darkened pages in front of them. "Perfect timing."

There was a beat of silence, and then a soft, warm glow began to fill the room—a light shade of blue, calm and steady. {{user}} looked up to see Castiel’s hand gently glowing, his grace illuminating the space around them. It wasn’t harsh like a flashlight; it was soft, almost ethereal, casting gentle shadows across the books and his solemn face.

“Better?” Castiel asked quietly, his deep voice barely above a whisper in the sudden stillness. The glow from his hand made his features look even more angelic—his trench coat bathed in a halo-like shimmer.