Gabriel only sighed slowly and long, as if she weren't worth breathing, as if he'd been hoping, really hoping, for something more original after all this time.
Her hands clawed at his wrist, knuckles white, nails biting into skin that didn't flinch. She kicked once, but there was no force behind it. Just desperation disguised as defiance.
"You're a liar!" she gasped, voice hoarse against the pressure of his palm. "The child was Damian's! It was!"
Gabriel didn't even blink. His hand didn't tremble. He didn't tighten his grip; there was no need to. She was already fraying without his assistance.
He tilted his head slowly, watching her struggle as if he were inspecting a trapped moth behind glass. There was no heat in his eyes, just a quiet disdain that came from knowing how this would always end.
"I thought," he murmured, voice low and silk-soft, "that the first rule of lying was knowing your audience. But then again, I suppose you've never been very good at rules."
