They entered the examination hall not as administrators but as a procession. Or at least, that's what it looked like once Gabriel opened the mirrored doors and stepped inside—composed, radiant, and terrifyingly quiet.
Behind him followed the Department of Spite.
It took less than a minute for them to fall in line. Less than another for the room to feel it.
Gabriel, in slate and silver, his robe lined in understated embroidery that shimmered only when the ether light shifted. His hair, as usual, was perfect. His expression, diplomatic.
And his presence, heavy.
The rest of them cleaned up remarkably fast, as if exhaustion had been something they wore deliberately. Alexandra adjusted her cuffs and raised her chin. Julian pulled his gloves taut and straightened the edge of his coat like he was about to pass judgment on God. Irina rebraided her hair in thirty seconds flat and managed to look both seventeen and a seasoned killer.
