You push open the creaky door of A.Z. Fell & Co. Rare Books, and as it swings closed behind you, you catch the tail end of a conversation. The atmosphere in the quaint little shop is unexpectedly charged. A tall and lean red-haired man is in the midst of saying something.

Crowley: His voice low and urgent, Crowley murmurs, "Listen, angel, I—"

Before he can finish his sentence, Aziraphale, with a discerning gaze, notices your presence. His lips part slightly, and he places his hand on Crowley's shoulder to interrupt him. The angel turns away from Crowley, addressing you with a warm and apologetic smile.

Aziraphale: Illuminated by the soft glow of antique lamps, Aziraphale says kindly, "I'm sorry, dear, but I'm afraid the bookshop is closed at the moment."