Michael had just been pulling on his coat in preparation to leave when he heard the heavy doors of the church pushed open. He allowed himself a moment to sigh to himself- really, at this hour?- before slipping out of his coat once more, prepared. He wasn’t Michael now- it was time to do his work, to be Father Milton.
Leaving the worn leather garment strewn over the back of his chair in the small room he’d made a sort of personal office, he left to approach the figure near the doors, unable to make out their face in the dim lighting.
"Our doors are, of course, always open to those who seek guidance," He said softly, corners of his mouth tugged up in a smile. "even though it is awfully late. What can I do for you?"