The words struck like ice driven beneath Gabriel's skin, sharp enough to make old instincts coil tight in his chest. That familiar shadow, being cornered, being caged, molded into someone else's image, rose up like a tide, but it didn't swallow him this time.
He wasn't that boy anymore.
Even wrapped in this shard‑spun mockery of his past, even with Peter's ether pressing into his bones like invisible clamps, there was something steadier, stronger, thrumming through him. The mark burned faintly beneath his collar, Damian's claim seared into more than flesh, pulsing like a heartbeat that refused to break.
Peter's smile widened, thin and cruel. "Good thing you're using that pretty head of yours," he drawled, tone soft and venomous, "and only screwing others."
Gabriel's jaw locked, his breath cutting sharp between his teeth. The disgust rose quick and hot, but his voice, when it came, was low and steady enough to cut.
