He gets no reply for a few minutes, as Crowley industriously works his way through his food. The process of eating, mechanical and repetitive, provides a welcome space for the demon to gather up the stray fragments of his composure - and, to be fair, it really isn't bad as far as Chinese takeaways go.

Shortly, though, he looks up, hastily swallows a mouthful of shrimp, and points with his chopsticks.

"Look."

The moon is coming up.