His impossible eyes—mirror of his sister's but somehow completely different—scan our group with an assessment that misses nothing. The miniaturized men. Grim is floating protectively. Me, solid again but clearly exhausted. Gwenievere, blood-drunk on feline magic.
“Gabriel?” We all manage to say, but I guess there’s no time to ask how he manifested.
"Nikki's in danger," he states, and there's something in his voice that transcends his usual disdain for the Fae.
This is personal.
This is urgent.
This is Gabriel actually caring about something other than his own situation.
The implications of that make everyone freeze—even time seems to pause, uncertain how to process Gabriel showing genuine concern for the Fae who our shared body instinctively rejects.
"Where?" Gwenievere asks, already pushing herself to standing despite the obvious effort it costs.
"The temporal maze," Gabriel responds. "The very center, where all times converge. And if we don't reach her soon?—"
He doesn't finish.
He doesn't need to.
"We need to go," I say, forcing myself upright despite exhaustion that makes existence feel negotiable. "Now."
As the others rush to the door, I offer to help Gwenievere out, holding her weight as she needs a bit more time to adjust to the new flowing blood that’s infused with feline essence.
“Thank you,” I quietly whisper, the two of us sharing a look before she gives the sweetest smile.
“I’d never abandon you, Zeke,” she assures me, like a promise she wouldn’t dare break. “Never.”
My smile is just as genuine.
I found someone who wants me to stick around…
The Beautiful Cage
~GWENIEVERE~
Consciousness returns in fragments—the rhythm of movement that isn't mine, voices floating through the fog of exhaustion, the particular warmth of being carried that makes me want to sink back into sleep rather than face whatever new trial awaits.
But the voices are too interesting to ignore.
"—how is he able to manifest?" That's Zeke, his musical tone carrying genuine curiosity rather than his usual feline certainty.
"I'm not sure." Gabriel's voice, but different from when he speaks through me. This is external, independent, his own vocal cords rather than borrowing mine. "One minute I was in a room witnessing Nikki and Nikolai in the midst of a crowd, then I was in this trial room watching their little frisky moment."
Frisky moment? My mind tries to process what I missed while unconscious, but Atticus's sigh interrupts the thought.
"If you think your sister biting Zeke to save his life is frisky, I'm glad you haven't seen the aftermaths of each of our bonds."
There's amusement in his tone, but also something protective—as if he's shielding the intimate details of our connections from external observation.
Gabriel's response is dry enough to desiccate water.
"And where do you think I've been all this while when stuck in my sister's body?"
The silence that follows is profound. The kind of quiet that comes when everyone simultaneously realizes something they should have considered but desperately didn't want to.
Gabriel's dark chuckle fills the void.
