Rafael left the office on unsteady legs, the word pregnancy still echoing in his skull like a misfired spell he couldn't dispel.
Six weeks.
It felt unreal. As if the future had reached out and closed a hand around his throat with terrifying gentleness.
The corridor was quiet, washed in pale light and antiseptic calm. And at the far end of it… Gregoris.
He stood exactly where Rafael knew he would be. Broad shoulders, dark uniform, hands folded behind his back in that disciplined, immovable way that made him look more like a fortress than a man. The bloodhound of the Emperor. Commander of the Shadows. Mate and menace alike.
The moment Rafael appeared, Gregoris's posture shifted. A subtle straightening. Those inhuman senses locking onto the omega the way they always did, as if the world rearranged itself around that single point.
Rafael took one look at him and snapped.
