Gadreel has learned, from his time in prison, that discretion kept you alive. The quieter you were, the less chance you had of catching the attention of a warden who wished to exert a little of his wrath. So he huddles closer to Balthazar, looking for all intents like another weary angel desperate for the comfort of another brother. The contact is welcome, but it also affords them the chance to speak quietly without observation.

"I have not been on Earth since the Garden. Is it alive?"

A subtle glance around. "Perhaps. There have been fewer of them on duty of late."