The door opened again, this time without a knock, because if you were the Emperor or Max Claymore, you didn't knock. You just entered, fully aware of your rank, your right, and the chaos you might be walking into.
Damian stepped in first, tailored in black with the faintest shimmer of ward-stitched thread down his cuffs. His hair was perfectly in place, and his golden eyes were sharp but focused entirely on one thing.
Gabriel.
Or more precisely, Gabriel holding their son like a living anchor.
