The door to Marin's office closed behind him with a soft click, and the corridor beyond felt sharper somehow, cleaner. Gabriel adjusted the fall of his coat as he walked, the subtle weight of the imperial signet pressing against his palm where he'd curled his fingers into a fist.
"Approved," Marin had said, his tone clipped but certain.
"Under supervision," he'd added, as though supervision could contain him.
Gabriel didn't slow his steps.
The palace's northern wing opened into wider halls, each one lined with lanterns that pulsed softly with the heartbeat of the wards. Officials passing by bowed low, some murmuring formal greetings, but he didn't break stride to answer. His dark hair, cropped short and swept back, caught the lamplight with each turn of his head, the faint pallor of recent recovery doing nothing to dull the hard set of his expression.
