The silence stretched, humming low and steady, like something inevitable just beneath the surface, waiting for one of them to break the illusion of civility.
Gabriel's hand hovered over his wine again.
And then, as if summoned by fate or sheer inconvenience, the door eased open with the quiet click of someone who had keys, clearance, and absolutely no fear.
Edward walked in without ceremony.
No bow, no tray of excuses, just the smooth glide of a man who had spent far too long managing the personal lives of emperors and their dangerous, overqualified spouses. His jacket was immaculate, as always, and his expression was that familiar mix of tolerance and muted exhaustion that said he had already handled three crises before breakfast.
"Well," Edward said cheerfully, folding his arms as he approached the table. "Goliath reincarnated. Lunch must've gone well."
Gabriel didn't even glance up. "You're early."
