Gabriel settled into the chair beside the low desk in their shared chambers, the lights dimmed to a soft gold, quiet enough not to disturb Damian, who still lay asleep on the bed, one arm stretched toward the space Gabriel had just vacated. The room smelled faintly of the herbs from the bath and something else, softer now, the echo of heat and poison, dulled by time and sedative.
Nobles and aides who never set foot in a technical field liked to forget what he was capable of. Gabriel wasn't just trained in ether engineering—he was the one who wrote the protocols half of them still fumbled through. He knew the network's current like it was breath, and he could trace signatures and shadow patterns better than the experts they paid six figures to hire.
