Gabriel finally smiled. "Correct."
He looked at the box in his hands, and for once—he faltered.
They were already bound. The mark on his nape was proof enough, etched deep into skin and soul. The wards opened for him. His scent was soaked into the Emperor's private wing. And somewhere beneath his ribs, something impossibly alive curled and grew each day like a secret whispered to the world too soon.
But this… this was different.
This was not instinct or bond or blood.
This was choice.
And his fingers were trembling.
Damian saw it, of course he did. He watched Gabriel like a man counting the seconds between lightning and thunder, already knowing when the next strike would come. He didn't say anything.
He just sighed, low and steady, and reached for the box.
