Crista motioned to the chair opposite her. "Please, sit. The coffee's real, and I had Edward promise not to water it down."
Gabriel slid into the seat without hesitation, eyeing the dark roast with some appreciation. "So it's true, you're the reasonable one."
"Only when I've had breakfast," Crista replied with a smile, pouring herself a cup. "Though even I have my limits. I married Hadeon, after all."
Gabriel smirked. "Bold choice."
"Tragic lapse," she corrected brightly. "But I was young, he had shoulders, and the rest is history, most of it messy."
That earned a quiet laugh from Gabriel, who lifted the coffee to his lips and took a long sip. "So. You know who I am."
Crista stirred in cream, unbothered. "I do. Or, at least, I know what the archives and a few sharp tongues have said about you. The man behind the curtain. The one who handed Damian the match and told him where the oil was stored."
