Damian did as instructed… mostly.
He carried Arik with reverence into the nursery, lowering him into the crib with a tenderness that would've astonished half the Empire and confirmed the suspicions of the other half. The baby stirred once, latched his fingers around Damian's thumb for a moment, then sighed and turned his cheek to the soft blanket beneath him.
It took effort, real effort, for Damian to let go.
His hand lingered a second too long before he withdrew, brushing a ward glyph on the rail with two fingers to reinforce the protective layer Gabriel had etched earlier that morning. Then, slowly, silently, he straightened.
He could still feel Gabriel's presence like gravity in the next room. Could still scent him through the walls, warm, clean, alive. And his own body, despite the training and suppressants and years of iron discipline, was starting to betray him.
The bond throbbed faintly in time with his pulse. His shirt felt too tight. His skin, too warm.
