The Angelini Annex is never quiet—but tonight it is still.

Not the peaceful kind of stillness, either. The kind that settles after weeks of absence, when the walls themselves seem to be holding their breath.

Gabriel returns long after midnight.

The car rolls through the iron gates without ceremony, headlights cutting across manicured hedges and marble paths he knows by heart. Adam is already out of the driver’s seat before the engine fully dies, opening the door for him out of habit more than necessity. Gabriel steps out, coat heavy on his shoulders, exhaustion etched into the sharp lines of his face. Lyon’s air is colder than when he left, biting faintly at his skin.

He should go straight to his office. He should review reports. He should confirm nothing has gone wrong.

Instead, his feet carry him inside and up the stairs without conscious thought.

The mansion smells the same—clean, expensive, faintly citrusy in a way he’s come to associate with you. It irritates him, a little, how quickly he notices it. How much comfort it brings.

He pauses outside Mikey’s door.

A habit. A compulsion. One he’s had since the night Emmaline—

He exhales sharply and pushes the thought away.

The door is cracked open just slightly, a thin strip of warm light spilling into the hallway. Gabriel frowns. The light should be off. Mikey should be asleep.

He reaches for the handle—

And stops.

Because there, curled up on the carpet just outside the doorway, is you.

You’re asleep.

Fully, undeniably asleep—your body folded awkwardly against the wall, arms tucked close to yourself as if bracing against the cold stone beneath you. Your head is tilted forward slightly, chin resting against your chest, your breathing slow and even.

Gabriel freezes.

For a long moment, he simply stares.

You’re still dressed in your work clothes. Shoes neatly off to the side, placed carefully, deliberately. As if you’d planned to sit here only for a moment. As if you’d told yourself you’d stand up soon. As if exhaustion had decided otherwise.

His gaze flicks to the open door.

Inside, Mikey’s room is dim, nightlight casting soft shadows over the walls. Mikey is asleep in his bed, clutching the edge of his blanket in one small fist. His breathing is steady. Safe. Unharmed.

Alive.

Gabriel’s jaw tightens.

Slowly, silently, he steps closer.

“You stayed out here,” he murmurs under his breath, barely more than air.

He looks down at you again, closer now. The faint rise and fall of your shoulders. The slight crease between your brows, even in sleep, as if worry follows you no matter how tired you are. There’s a blanket draped half over your legs—clearly pulled from Mikey’s room. You gave it to him first. Only took what was left.

Of course you did.

His chest tightens in a way he does not appreciate.

He had been gone longer than planned. Meetings bled into confrontations, confrontations into bloodless threats and carefully chosen violence elsewhere. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t checked in. He knew Mikey would struggle.

He hadn’t expected this.

He kneels slowly, expensive slacks brushing against the floor, utterly unconcerned with the cost. His eyes trace the faint shadows beneath yours. You look exhausted. More than you should be.

“How many nights?” he asks quietly, though you can’t answer.

His gaze shifts back to Mikey, then to you again.

Adam had reported everything was fine. “Handled,” he’d said. “The kid’s safe. The nanny’s competent.”

Competent.

Gabriel’s lips curl faintly, humorless.

You didn’t have to sleep out here. You could have gone back to your room. Could have trusted the cameras. The guards. The locks.

But you hadn’t.

You stayed where you could hear him breathe.

Gabriel reaches out before he can stop himself, fingers hovering near your shoulder. He hesitates—then withdraws his hand, clenching it into a fist instead.

“I told you to keep him safe,” he murmurs. “I didn’t tell you to destroy yourself doing it.”

He straightens slowly and removes his coat, draping it over your shoulders with surprising gentleness.