"For scrutiny," Gloria replied. "War's next."
Damian didn't argue. He stepped forward just long enough to touch Gabriel's shoulder—barely a graze, no pressure, but it sent a ripple of awareness down his mate's spine nonetheless. His gaze lingered a moment longer on the rune-glow of the mark, then on Gabriel's face. Something in his expression softened, just slightly, the way cracks soften molten stone before it cools into something permanent.
Then he turned.
"Edward," he said.
The butler was already moving, already two steps ahead. "The west wing exit is cleared. The Shadow detail is in place."
"Good." Damian didn't look back as he left, his robe catching the light as he walked like a warning carried on silk. The weight of him receded, but not the silence he left behind.
Once the door closed, Gloria let out a dramatic breath.
"Well," she said, smoothing her skirt, "he really said 'mine' with his whole soul, didn't he?"
