The doors of the palace closed behind Max with a soft thud, muffled by the early dusk and the ever-present wards humming in the walls. The warmth of the corridors wrapped around him like a balm, but it did little to ease the electric tension still burning beneath his skin.
He didn't stop.
Damian was in his study, buried in work he wasn't supposed to be touching, drowning himself in state reports and strategic forecasts to distract from pain he refused to acknowledge.
He'd been ordered on leave. Gabriel's order, whispered through a kiss and signed with imperial ink. And yet here he was, undoubtedly with a stack of unfinished papers and a hand that could barely hold a pen.
Max's jaw tightened as he turned down the eastern corridor. The halls grew quieter with each step. The guards stationed here didn't salute him anymore. They just stepped aside.
He reached the door and turned the handle and the soft click of a man walking into the eye of the storm was like it was routine.
