Gregoris bit into the cookie without hesitation, as though the possibility of caution had never been a part of his training. The corridor collectively tensed; several Shadows looked ready to lunge forward and administer emergency care or flee for their lives, it was difficult to tell which. Gregoris chewed, unhurried, swallowed, and took a moment that looked almost contemplative. Perhaps there was a flicker of surprise in his expression, something faint and unreadable that made the Shadows exchange worried glances.
"Well," he said quietly as he stepped closer, his voice even and disturbingly calm, "aren't you full of charming ideas."
Rafael held his ground, refusing to take a single step back even though every instinct whispered at him to do so. "Enjoy," he said, his tone measured and polite.
"I intend to," Gregoris replied, and the amusement in his voice was far more unnerving than irritation would have been.
Rafael turned and walked out with the poise of a man who had just stabbed a dragon and believed, perhaps foolishly, that he might live to tell the tale. His back remained perfectly straight as he exited the murder wing, coat swaying behind him like a challenge.
Gregoris watched him go, eyes bright with something dangerously close to fascination. He lifted his hand, licking a stray crumb from his thumb with a motion that made half the Shadows stop breathing. The ether destabilizer crackled faintly along his channels, a sharp, electric sting that would have floored any normal man and his smile only sharpened at the sensation.
"Oh, Rafael," he murmured under his breath, the words meant for no one but himself, "you truly want my attention."
And behind that quiet statement was something far more certain: Now he had it.
A quiet thud echoed behind him, one of the junior Shadows had fainted against the wall. Another was gripping the edge of a weapons rack like it might steady his soul.
The oldest among them, a grizzled operative with burn scars and no remaining illusions, whispered, "He's not going to kill him."
"No," said the second commander, wide-eyed. "He's going to court him."
And that was somehow worse.
Gregoris closed the box with quiet finality, the ether in his palm dissipating just as discreetly as it had flared. He'd stabilized the poison, inverted the chemical fold, and turned the hallucinogen into something that merely sharpened his senses for the next four hours. That wasn't the point.
The point was that Rafael had declared war.
And signed it with a bow.
Gregoris turned slowly toward his audience, Shadows frozen mid-breath, half-expecting him to launch a knife or burn the entire hallway down in a fit of sugar-induced rage.
Instead, he said…
"Bring me the intel report on House Rosenroth. I want everything from their dietary preferences to the architect of their estate gardens. And…" He paused, glancing at the last cookie in the box. "Someone find out if he bakes when he's angry. Or only when he's in love."
"Commander," the youngest Shadow whispered. "Was that an assassination attempt?"
Gregoris's smile returned, not cruel, not kind. Just interested. Alive.
"No," he said. "That was an invitation."
Then he took another cookie.
And he bit down like a man absolutely sure the war had just begun and that he intended to win it with fire, seduction, and spite.
—
Rafael had just rounded the corner, halfway down the marble hall that led back to the exit of the Shadow Department, when the air shifted.
He didn't stop walking.
But the weight behind him was unmistakable. The scent of cold metal and papered ozone that always accompanied Gregoris when he decided subtlety was no longer necessary.
A shadow fell across his path.
Gregoris appeared just slightly to his left, close enough that Rafael could feel the brush of his coat but far enough to maintain plausible deniability.
"You forgot something," Gregoris said, voice casual.
Rafael kept walking, chin lifted, each step determined and entirely unwilling to acknowledge the large, lethal creature suddenly pacing at his side. "Did I?" he repeated, voice smooth but clipped.
Gregoris nodded once, the motion precise. "Yes. You brought a gift. That makes you a lover."
Rafael stopped. Very slowly. "I'm sorry, what?"
Gregoris faced him fully now, eyes bright with quiet satisfaction, like he had been waiting for this moment since the first cookie entered his mouth. "A lover brings sweets. A lover is owed a kiss in exchange. Tradition."
"That is not a tradition," Rafael said, horrified.
"It is now," Gregoris answered, perfectly shameless. "And you seem the type to value proper etiquette."
Rafael opened his mouth, preparing a dignified refusal on the grounds that he had never, not once, agreed to this arrangement, but Gregoris leaned in, cutting off his breath and his argument with proximity alone. The corridor behind them remained silent, the Shadows holding formation like witnesses at an execution.
"Rosenroth," Gregoris murmured, "you came to my department, braved my people, brought me something sweet, and left without compensation. That is unacceptable."
"I did not…" Rafael began, frowning sharply, "agree to…"
Gregoris overrode him with calm. "A kiss."
Rafael stepped back. Gregoris did not allow distance. He followed, cornering Rafael against the cold marble wall with nothing more than presence and intent. The air crackled faintly where the destabilizer still flickered in Gregoris's bloodstream.
"No," Rafael said, a little breathless. "No, I don't think…"
"Yes," Gregoris said, calm, absolute.
And before Rafael could gather another protest, Gregoris lowered his head and kissed him.