Gregoris did not rush the bath.
He stood beneath the water until the heat bit into sore muscles and the blood slid away in dark ribbons, until the echo of violence stopped clinging to his skin like a second shadow. Steam burned the smell of war out of his lungs. Ether hum quieted under heat and soap and the stubborn act of staying in one place long enough to feel human again.
By the time he stepped back into their wing, the manor had settled into true silence.
He opened the bedroom door carefully.
Rafael was asleep. He'd curled slightly on his side, one hand still fisted lightly into the blanket near where Gregoris would normally lie, as if some subconscious part of him hadn't quite believed Gregoris would come back unless it held the place.
The lamp was still on, washed to a softer glow by the shade Rafael had lowered at some point. The room smelled like warm sheets, warded quiet and Rafael.
Gregoris stopped near the bed and let himself look.
