"Sorry to disappoint," Damian said, his voice pitched low and too calm, "but I'd bet the weight of the crown that it was Hadeon."
Gabriel exhaled, slow and steady, as if willing the weight in his chest to shift, even just a little. He lifted his hand without thinking, fingers threading through Damian's dark hair with the kind of careful precision that betrayed just how much he wanted to fall apart. He dragged his touch downward, slow and unhurried, until it reached the nape of Damian's neck, where skin still pulsed warm from the antidote, and the line between vulnerability and survival blurred.
"You," Gabriel said, his voice flat but quiet, "get in the bath. And I won't kill anyone with my own hands."
Damian arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "How generous."
Gabriel didn't smile. "It's the best I can offer until you're no longer walking around like someone took a hammer to your soul."
