The streets of Seviel were nearly deserted, blanketed in snow and silence. Gabriel slipped from the doorway of an abandoned house and into the night, his boots crunching softly against the frost-bitten pavement. Smoke curled from the cigarette between his fingers, the glow faring like a pulse in the dark. 

He’d been avoiding Eli for days now.

Not out of fear, Eli didn’t inspire that in him, but because he had nothing to show.

No secrets uncovered.

No progress made. 

Just a courtesan with green eyes who had somehow managed to rearrange the rhythm of his thoughts.

He should have known better. 

Idiot.

Gabriel had killed men for less than the hesitation that now plagued him. He’d been trained to think of lives as leverage, not as people with pasts or fragile hopes. And yet, when he thought of Cain, something in him twisted painfully. 

He needed to find a way to convince Eli to spare the boy.

Or failing that, to help him escape. 

He imagined Cain far from here, free and nameless, with the sunlight on his face. The image hurt more than it should have. Because if Gabriel succeeded, he would never see him again. And if he failed, well, Cain would have to die by his hands. 

The truth was, he didn’t even know him.

But it felt as though he did. As though they’d met long before Seviel. There was something familiar in Cain’s sorrow, something that mirrored his own. Maybe that’s what drew him in. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t walk away. 

Still, what could he ever offer Cain? How could he tell him that he was a weapon forged by rebellion, a man who’d slit throats for ideals that meant less with every drop spilled. How could he explain that he enjoyed it? 

If Cain ever knew…

He would look at him with those wide eyes and see not a man, but a monster. 

Whatever this was, it was built on deceit. The more Cain trusted him, the crueller the truth would feel when it came.

He drew on his cigarette, exhaling a long stream of smoke into the night. “You’re a fool, Gabriel,” he muttered to himself. “A goddamn fool.”

And yet his feet carried him through the snow to the one place in Seviel that still made his pulse quicken. 

When he reached the Praecia Veil, the windows were lit softly from within, and music drifted faintly through the walls. He looked up and saw that the potted lilies were no longer on the windowsill.

So he meant what he said. 

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. Damn it.

He ground out the cigarette and approached the east wing. The lock was laughably simple. Cain had exaggerated nothing; the latch crumbled in his hands like wet parchment.

He slipped inside, his movements soundless. The corridor was dim, lined with fading murals and the faint scent of perfume. His shadow trailed him up the narrow stairwell, where the faint light of a fire glowed beneath a door. 

Cain’s door.

He eased it open. The hinges didn’t so much as sigh.

Inside, the fire burned low. The room was bathed in amber, everything gilded in the warm hush of late night. Cain was curled up on the ground beside the hearth, fast asleep, a book rising and falling in his arms. His hair was tied back, but a few loose strands framed his face while his lips parted slightly as he breathed. 

Gabriel froze in the doorway. 

For a long moment, he just stood there, watching. 

He stepped closer until he was beside him. Kneeling, he picked up the book and dusted the small specs of soot that covered it. Cain’s lashes fluttered open. 

Green eyes, dazed with sleep, met his. 

Gabriel’s breath hitched. 

For all the nights he’d seen Cain, painted and poised, this was what undid him: the raw, unguarded version. No makeup, no perfume. Just a boy in loose linen, his expression soft, human and unbearably real.

He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck. So he smiled instead, faintly, almost tenderly. 

“Couldn’t sleep? Cain murmured, his voice thick with drowsiness.

Gabriel’s answer came low, a murmur against the firelight. “Neither could you, apparently.”

Cain blinked slowly, then smiled back.

And in that quiet, something in Gabriel splintered. 

This was his favourite version of Cain.

Cain stirred, blinking away sleep as the firelight pulled him back into the waking world. Gabriel sat cross-legged on the rug in front of him, the faintest smirk ghosting across his lips. The two of them faced each other, the fire crackling softly between them. 

Cain rubbed his eyes, voice still husky.

“So, you know how to pick locks then?”

Gabriel exhaled, amused. “Pick? Hardly. The damned thing disintegrated in my hands. Be careful who you tell about that door, little lamb. Some of your admirers might not be as charming as I am.”

Cain gave a dry, crooked smile. “Don’t worry. Only a handful of them know.” 

Gabriel tilted his head, feigning disappointment. “Ah. And here I was thinking I was special.”

“There’s a long line of people waiting to steal me away,” Cain said.
Gabriel’s lips twitched. “Then I suppose I’ll have to have words with them all.”

The teasing hung in the air, soft and dangerous. For a heartbeat, it almost felt light between them. Then Cain’s expression shifted, the glint in his eyes sharpening. 

“Gabriel,” he murmured. “Why are you really here?”

Gabriel met his gaze, unflinching. “Do you want the truth, or something that sounds nice?”

Cain leaned back slightly, the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. “The truth first. Then you can try to charm me afterwards.”

Gabriel hesitated, only for a breath. “The merchant,” he said finally. “You knew him.”

Cain’s eyes flickered. “Yes.”

“I was sent to find out who he worked for, what he was hiding. His dealings weren’t clean, and those dealings led me here.”

Cain’s voice came quiet, almost flat. “So you didn’t lie when you said people are targeting this place.”

“No.” Gabriel’s voice softened. “There’s something here worth knowing. That’s what I came for. Why I keep coming back…” His eyes found Cain’s. “Well, perhaps I just enjoy the company.”

Cain huffed, a sound somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “That’s only half the truth.”

Gabriel smiled, faintly. “Correct. The problem is, I’m not entirely sure what the other half is yet. Until I’m certain, it’s safer for both of us if I leave it at that.”

Cain studied him for a long moment. The firelight painted his features in amber and shadow, and in that flicker, he looked both beautiful and dangerous. 

“Then let me make a bold assumption,” Cain said finally.

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. “By all means.”

“You think I’m somehow connected to the merchant,” Cain said. “That I know something. Madam questioned me about this already. But I didn’t tell him anything. I don’t know anything worth killing for.”

Gabriel’s voice was low and deliberate. “There are people with opinions. My own… varies.”

Cain tilted his head. “Varies?”

“I have my beliefs, but believing isn’t the same as knowing. I suppose I’m trying to disprove a few theories.”

“Theories that could get me killed,” Cain murmured.

Gabriel didn’t answer. His silence was its own kind of truth. 

The fire snapped softly between them. For a moment, neither moved. Just two men caught in the same flicker of uncertainty, one bound by duty, the other by circumstance.

Cain’s eyes lingered on him. Gabriel had the distinct sense that the courtesan saw more than what he let on, that he could feel the absences in Gabriel’s words. There were still things he couldn’t yet say. So he held Cain’s gaze and let the silence speak for him. For now, that would have to be enough. 

Cain’s voice broke the silence.

“It’s funny,” he said softly, staring into the fire, “how my future has never really been in my own hands.”

The way he said those words twisted something inside Gabriel. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, studying the courtesan’s expression.

“You said before that you trust me,” Gabriel murmured. “I’m not sure if you truly do, but at least trust me when I say this. I want to protect you. That’s another reason I keep coming back. If all I wanted was information…” He paused, the words heavy on his tongue. “I would have had it by now, and been long gone.”

Cain turned toward him, eyes catching the flicker of light.

“Can you stay a little longer?”

Gabriel’s voice was steady, but something in him cracked at the edges. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Cain shook his head slightly. “I mean, tonight. Stay by my side.”

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Then Gabriel nodded once, slowly. “As you wish.”

Cain uncrossed his legs and moved toward him, the rustle of linen the only sound between them. He knelt before Gabriel, hesitating just a breath before wrapping his arms around his shoulders. His head found its place against Gabriel’s neck, fitting there as if it had always belonged. 

Gabriel let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His hands came up, uncertain at first, then firm. One resting at the small of Cain’s back, the other tracing slow circles up his spine. He lowered his head, pressing it lightly atop Cain’s.

They stayed like that, kneeling before the fire until the silence grew too full to bear. 

When Cain lifted his head, Gabriel looked down into his eyes that glistened faintly in the light. Something inside him faltered. 

Cain leaned forward before thought could intervene, or before fear could take hold, and kissed him.

It was slow at first. Searching. Then deepened into something raw and desperate, a kiss that spoke of loneliness and defiance all at once. Cain’s fingers slid into Gabriel’s hair, holding him close as though afraid he might vanish if he let go. 

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing unevenly.

Gabriel rose, still holding Cain, and lifted him effortlessly into his arms, Cain’s legs wrapping naturally around Gabriel’s waist. He carried him to the bed, laying him down with a care that felt almost reverent. His lips trailed along Cain’s cheek, pausing at the corner of his mouth, savouring the moment before finally claiming it in a kiss that was deep, hungry, and all-consuming. 

Cain’s legs, still wrapped around Gabriel’s waist, refused to release their hold, his body arching into Gabriel’s touch, seeking more. His hands wandered, exploring Gabriel’s chest, almost feeling the rapid beat of his heart through his shirt. Gabriel gasped lightly as Cain’s hands reached his hips, his breath hitching in his throat as Cain’s fingers traced the waistband of his pants, before finally grasping his already hardened member through the fabric. 

And yet… Gabriel paused. His restraint was a living thing. Trembling, aching, and barely contained. 

“Solaris,” he whispered against his lips. “Do you really want this right now, or are you just hurting?”

Cain blinked up at him with glassy eyes. No one had ever said words like that to him before. For a moment, all his defences, the wit, the charm, the walls, fell away. 

Gabriel kissed him again, softer this time. 

Then he gathered him into his arms, holding him close as though he could shield him from the world. 

He whispered small, senseless things into Cain’s hair. Words of comfort, of apology, of things he wasn’t brave enough to say in daylight.

Cain’s breath slowed. His body softened. And before long, his head had found its resting place against Gabriel’s chest, his lashes brushing the fabric of his shirt. 

When sleep took him, it was gentle this time. 

Gabriel stayed a while longer, memorising the curve of his face in the firelight, the fragile peace that had settled there. He brushed a strand of hair from Cain’s forehead and pressed a quiet kiss to his skin. 

“Sleep well, little lamb.”

Then, with reluctant care, he untangled himself, tucked the blanket around Cain’s shoulders, and slipped from the room, leaving behind only the faint scent of incense and lilies and the sound of his heartbeat echoing in the dark. 

༻𐫱༺

As I Am Known: “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then shall I know, even as also I am known.” (Corinthians 13:12)