Damian lay reclined in the armchair, shirt still half-unbuttoned, pale skin streaked with the fading glow of the antidote, the sharp lines of his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that had, finally, evened out. His posture was relaxed in that infuriating way that made it easy to forget how close he had come to collapse, but Gabriel hadn't forgotten, not for a second.
He hadn't moved far.
One hand still rested on the armrest near Damian's fingers; the other held an untouched glass of water. Not because he thought Damian would drink it now, but because he might, and Gabriel didn't want to reach again.
Dr. Marin stood at a slight distance now, not hovering but observing, his arms folded, one brow furrowed as he watched the readings from the compact ether monitor hooked lightly to Damian's wrist. The readout glowed pale green now, stabilized, but not cleared.
