Rafael didn't flinch. "I'm not part of her game. She didn't ask."
That was true.
Gabriel could see that; he could see through him—a twenty-year-old omega attempting to seize the opportunity Gabriel had forced upon him. His coat still sat awkwardly on his shoulders, and the pin Irina attempted to stab him with was slightly crooked.
He looked like a well-groomed lie. One that hadn't figured out its punchline yet.
Rafael sat perfectly still, trying to appear composed, but the effort only made it worse. His hands were folded too neatly. His posture too stiff, like someone bracing for a blow that hadn't yet landed.
Gabriel tilted his head, contemplating what to say next, while Damian listened and rubbed his mate's back as if he had all the time in the world.
Gabriel finally broke the pause. "And you?"
Rafael placed his glass down carefully. "I don't know her games," he said. "She doesn't share them."
