Gregoris exited the shower with water still clinging to his shoulders, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling as he reached for the clothes laid out with military precision on the chair by the window. Peter had chosen well, as always. A three-piece suit in deep black, cut sharply but without ornament, paired with a simple black tie.
He shrugged into the shirt first, crisp white against his skin, fastening the cuffs with methodical care. The silver buttons caught the light briefly before disappearing beneath the vest. Black on white, restrained to the point of austerity. If Rafael was going to burn the room down, Gregoris had no intention of competing with the fire.
Norman, one of his personal Shadows, had returned two days ago. Empty-handed.
That alone had been interesting.
The Shadow had reported, in his flat, factual way, that Lord Rosenroth had accepted the delivery. No refusal or theatrics this time. The suit, the jewelry, and the collar were all retained.
