Gabriel was not speaking to him.
Not in the way that meant real anger, Damian knew that rhythm too well, but in the far more dangerous, far more irritating way that meant embarrassment. Which, as far as Damian was concerned, was vastly preferable to genuine fury but also much harder to fix because it required a level of contrition he had no interest in faking.
"You didn't even lock the door," Gabriel said at last, his tone quiet enough to make it worse. He didn't look at Damian, just kept walking toward their shared quarters, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robe like he was trying to smother the memory.
"I was a little… distracted," Damian admitted, falling into step beside him.
Gabriel stopped, turned, and gave him the kind of look that would have made a lesser man start writing an apology letter to the gods. "Distracted? You have inhuman hearing, Damian. You can pick up a coin drop from the other side of the wing. And you didn't hear Edward?"
