Damian didn't end the call right away.
The line between them hummed—alive with everything they hadn't said, with everything they both knew but weren't ready to confront in full. It wasn't tension. It was a standoff of love wearing the armor of caution.
"Gabriel," he said finally, quieter now. "I need to go. Wait for me, preferably in the wing Edward prepared for your heat."
A pause.
The kind that lingered just a beat too long—like the silence wasn't unsure, just reluctant to be filled.
Gabriel didn't argue. He could've. He'd always had the sharp tongue and the sharper instinct, but this time, he let the silence stretch with something softer—trust.
"I'll go," he said eventually, his voice calm but threaded with meaning. "But only because I'd rather sedate myself than let Marin try."
A faint sound escaped Damian—too soft to be laughter, too pained to be relief. But it was real.
"You're going to be impossible this week."
