The scrolls were still burning in the hearth when Gabriel left the office.
Damian had left shortly after setting fire to the letters, but the heat from his presence lingered in the room for longer than the flame.
Gabriel simply stood up, straightened the folds of his coat, and walked away, ignoring the perfume-stained pile of noble desperation still smoldering in gold-edged ash.
The corridors outside the Empress's wing were quieter, stripped of ceremony, and painted with colder light. Daylight didn't reach this far, not really. Only the flicker of magical sconces trailing down the spine of the hallway, pale and pulseless like veins beneath skin.
Alexander fell into step behind him almost immediately, flanked by two members of the royal guard in silent formation. They didn't ask where he was going.
Gabriel glanced back once.
"I don't need an escort," he said, not unkindly. "She's contained. And disarmed."
