The decision came in fragments, like the scorched shards still scattered across his desk. Days passed with little change, the runes refused to yield, the archivists circled their failures, and even Rafael had stopped pretending that new translations were progress.
Gabriel had resisted long enough. Every instinct told him that to involve Lucius was to invite the past back into a place where he had fought too hard to carve out the present. And yet… every time Rowena's small hand had curled around his finger, or Arik had asked another curious question about "the old emperors," the thought pressed harder.
'Maybe it was worth the risk of Lucius knowing that Arik was more than his grandchild.'
The wards stirred, low and steady, and before Gabriel could fully rise from his chair, the door eased open.
"Papa!"
