The door slid open without warning, the security lock disengaging with a soft click. Ether light from the hallway spilled across the room, catching on the chaos: crates stacked to the ceiling, Alexandra twirling in stolen silk, Irina perched like a nervous sparrow on her stool, Rafael buried in his slate, Edward visibly praying for deliverance, and Gabriel behind the desk, sleeves rolled, knife in hand like a mafia boss inspecting contraband.
Damian leaned against the frame, golden eyes sweeping the scene once before settling on Gabriel. He didn't speak, the weight of his gaze said enough.
Edward cleared his throat, straightening instinctively. "Your Majesty. The Empress is… conducting quality control."
"That's what they're calling it now?" Alexandra asked sweetly, striking a pose in her new robe.
