He stopped just inside the doorway, refusing to budge despite the hand in his back, stunned at the sight in front of him.
She looked exactly as he'd imagined, the wide, froggy mouth turning down as her gaze flicked to the man standing behind her. Dean was jabbering something he couldn't make out clearly, but it didn't matter.
Under his feet, the ground gave a distinctive roll and light flooded through the thin curtains, attuned to a frequency that was gonna mush his brain in a hot minute, if the brilliance didn't blind him first.
Archangel.
He was the prophet.