CHAPTER 265: END OF THE PARTY AND AN ATTACK![6]

Gabriel stood up without saying a word. He didn’t take an aggressive stance or reach for anything. He only turned his body slightly—just enough that the approaching guards had to look up to meet his eyes.

They looked, and their pace slowed.

It wasn’t fear in their faces; it was that animal caution that comes when you walk into a clearing and realize another predator is already there. The music had stopped without anyone telling it to.

Alfred noticed the hesitation and felt a spark of anger. "Escort them to the guest lounge," he said, his voice hard. "No harm."

The guards nodded and stepped forward again, closer now.

Gabriel didn’t move.

He didn’t change his expression. He didn’t need to.

The first guard’s foot came down and stayed there. The second shifted his weight and decided not to take the next step. Their eyes flicked to each other, then to Alfred, then back to Gabriel.

No one moved for three heartbeats.

Damian broke the stillness. He pushed his chair in with a soft scrape and began to leave, disregarding the guards present.

Gabriel fell into step beside him.

It wasn’t a fast walk. It didn’t need to be. The hall split for them without being asked. The smell of spilled wine reached the air—someone had gripped a glass too hard.

At the main table, Talia stood very still, jaw set, as if weighing something. A few of the younger heirs who had laughed at Damian earlier stood with their hands behind their backs, faces blank, pretending they had never spoken.

At the head table, an elder leaned toward Alfred. "Stop them," he hissed.

Alfred’s knuckles whitened on his cane. This was... this was the greatest disrespect he had ever experienced. Not even the King of the Valerian Kingdom would have dared such insolence.

He raised his chin a notch and warned in a louder, chilling tone, "If you leave this hall, do not expect the Graves to stay quiet."

With Gabriel beside him, Damian’s confidence and pride were firm again. He didn’t look back, acting as if the threat had fallen on deaf ears.

They reached the center aisle. Two more guards moved to block the path near the main doors. They stood firm this time, no hesitation, shoulders squared.

Gabriel’s eyes lifted slightly—those piercing, electric-blue eyes seemed to bore into the very fabric of their souls.

The two guards took in the look and made a silent calculation that no one else could hear. Then they stepped aside one step each, like trained men yielding a narrow street to a heavy cart.

No one breathed until Gabriel and Damian passed between them.

Someone near the wall—an old aunt who had sat in judgment of children for fifty years—exhaled a word that sounded like a prayer.

They reached the great doors. A steward looked at Damian, then at Alfred, then at Gabriel, and finally down at his own hands. He opened the doors.

"Damian." Alfred’s voice came low and sharp from behind again.

Damian paused at the threshold but didn’t turn.

"You cannot cut blood," Alfred said. "In the end, when this city closes its doors to you, you will crawl back. That thing beside you will not keep you warm."

No one laughed. No one dared.

Damian looked over his shoulder just enough for Alfred to see the line of his jaw. "I won’t crawl," he said. "Not to you."

He stepped out.

Gabriel followed.

The doors closed behind them with a deep sound that seemed to travel into the bones of the hall.

Silence. Then the room started moving in a dozen directions at once. People whispered, texted, blinked, breathed. The orchestra tried to restart a soft piece and failed, strings squeaking as if their fingers had forgotten what to do.

At a side table, Cedric sat very still, face pale, pride collapsing in quiet pieces. A friend leaned close and whispered, "Are they really going against the family?"

Cedric didn’t answer. He watched the empty doorway like a man who’d seen a ghost step through it.

Talia looked at Alfred, then at the elders, then at the other heirs. She read the lines. She saw who tensed, who reached for comms, who pretended nothing had happened. She set her glass down and walked away from the main table without asking permission—heels quiet, eyes cool.

---

Outside, the night was colder than the lights suggested. The air carried the clean smell of water from the estate fountains and the faint bite of engine fumes.

Damian walked fast at first, like a man breaking free of a net. By the second archway, he slowed and forced his breathing to match his steps.

He didn’t speak.

Gabriel didn’t ask if he was sure.

They crossed the broad steps to the drive. Valets and guards looked up, froze, then pretended to be busy with other things. The car stood where they had left it.

Damian opened the passenger door and stopped, one hand on the frame. He looked at the mansion—the windows, the columns. He had been a child here. He had seen winter banners hung there and summer lanterns strung up for festivals. He had run under that rain gutter when storms hit and he was late for sword drills.

He shut the door slowly and walked around the front of the car to the driver’s side.

"I’ll drive," he said.

Gabriel didn’t argue.

The engine started on the first touch. Damian pulled out of the gravel curve and eased onto the main road. Behind them, the estate lights glowed like a small city on a hill.

Neither of them spoke for a full minute. Traffic was light on this side of the district—most cars were still parked for the party. Neon from billboards painted the windshield in slow colors—blue, red, white.

Damian finally laughed once under his breath. "I did it."

"You did," Gabriel said.

"My hands are still shaking, but I did it."

"You did it clean," Gabriel replied. "No begging. No noise."

Damian nodded. "I wanted to say it for a long time." He swallowed. "Cutting blood is not simple. But sometimes it’s the only way to breathe."

"You didn’t say a word," he suddenly said.

"There was nothing to say," Gabriel replied.

Damian smiled without humor. "They will come."

"They will," Gabriel said.

"I hope your Broken Dawn Guild can protect me," he chuckled.

"Of course. With your experience, it’ll help facilitate our trade and exchange."

They crossed into a busier avenue. Noise rose. Food stalls still glowed. Otherworlders in cheap armor laughed too loudly under a flickering sign. The city didn’t care about one family’s drama. It kept moving.

...

Damian took a turn toward the highway leading back to Edgar’s place under Gabriel’s direction.

"What next?" he asked.

"Let’s pick up someone and head for the cam—"

Gabriel didn’t finish his words. A blinding flash streaked toward them at unstoppable speed, casting shadows across their faces.

"Heavens... is that a fucking missile?!"