"I'm baiting you," Gabriel said, letting a soft coil of ether trail down his wrist like smoke, "because you look like you need it."
The words were velvet, but the challenge beneath them was steel.
Damian's gaze dipped to that thin wisp of power—too delicate for real offense, too controlled to be careless. His smile didn't reach his eyes. It never did when he was like this.
"Then you won't mind if I respond."
Damian's voice was calm, but his stance shifted with intent—fluid, grounded, precise. He had never fought Gabriel before; they didn't really have the chance. He knew the reports, of course. Knew Gabriel had spent more time on the field than in the office during Claymore's expansion. But his role hadn't been that of a soldier. Gabriel had built the circuits, stabilized the generators, and rerouted energy from collapsed grid lines while ether cracked overhead. His hands were made for control panels and ward design, not for wielding a blade.
