Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 236 - 231: To Keep You Whole

’To Gabriel von Jaunez,

You always said letters were where liars go to bury their guilt.

Maybe this is exactly that.

But still—if you’re reading this, then everything I tried to prevent has already begun. And the truth is all I have left to give you.

I made a choice.

Not because I wanted to. Not because I was coerced. But because I looked at George—loyal and blind. I looked at Max—brilliant and vulnerable. And I looked at myself and saw a man who couldn’t bear to watch the people he loved be crushed between the teeth of imperial ambition.

Then Hadeon came.

He didn’t need threats. Just promises.

He said no one would die. That George would stay untouched. That Max would be protected. That you would remain whole—just... controlled. Watched. Carefully managed. Because of your history. Because of what you did during the rebellion. He painted you like a weapon in a silk sheath—beautiful, dangerous, unpredictable. And if you refused to bend, someone else would break you.

So I agreed. Because I believed—even if I didn’t trust him—that maybe if I played along, I could minimize the damage. That if you had to be watched, it was better it be me than someone cruel. That if someone was going to poison your strength, better it be a slow erosion than a blade to the throat.

I became the leash he never had to pull because I kept the tension steady myself.

And I told myself it was mercy.

You bonded with him. The one man Hadeon fears.

I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.

But know this:

I didn’t do it because I feared death.

I did it because I feared your rebellion would take us all with you.

And I was too much of a coward to join you.

—Callahan’

Gabriel stared at the letter long after his eyes had stopped reading.

The paper trembled slightly in his hands, though whether from the weakness in his fingers or the roiling undercurrent in his chest, he couldn’t tell. The words became blurred, with Callahan’s neat, careful handwriting bleeding into the white space between them, wrapping around his throat like something soft and suffocating.

Damian pulled him tighter in his arms, not saying anything.

He didn’t offer comfort. He didn’t tell him it would be all right. He just held him, solid, immovable, as if he were the only thing in the room that was not slipping through Gabriel’s grasp.

The letter crackled faintly between Gabriel’s fingers as it folded against Damian’s chest, crumpled but not let go.

Gabriel didn’t know how long they stayed like that, only that his thoughts moved in slow, jagged circles.

Callahan had chosen this.

Not out of malice. Not even ambition. But fear.

A desperate, human fear of losing the few people he had left. A fear Gabriel understood far too well.

And still.

Still, it twisted in him, dark and shapeless, something between betrayal and mourning. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream or sleep. If he should be furious with Callahan for not trusting him or grateful, he’d at least written the truth before the end.

He let out a breath—long, shaky, and quieter than it should have been.

"I don’t know how to grieve this," he said softly.

Damian shifted just enough to press his forehead against Gabriel’s temple. "Then don’t decide yet."

Gabriel nodded faintly, his fingers finally loosening around the letter. It slid from his grasp and landed between them, a lifeless thing that had once held power over both of them.

"Do you think George knew?" he asked, eyes half-closed. "Even a little?"

Damian’s voice came after a beat. "I think George is many things. But blind? No. He knew Callahan was hiding something. But I think he loved him enough not to ask."

Gabriel let that settle, like dust over an old wound. "That’s the most painful kind of loyalty."

"Yes," Damian murmured. "But it also means there’s still someone inside that estate worth saving."

Gabriel didn’t respond right away.

His eyes were already growing heavy again, the adrenaline fading, his body pulled back into the slow, consuming weight of fatigue. The wards in the room adjusted with a soft flicker, responding to his shift in breathing. The glow of the fireplace dimmed as if the world, too, was leaning into rest.

Damian smoothed the blankets without being asked, fingers brushing over Gabriel’s wrist to check the pulse he didn’t need to feel to know.

"I won’t go far," Damian said softly, though Gabriel’s eyes were already shut.

A murmur, barely audible: "Liar..."

A ghost of a smile touched Damian’s lips.

"You’ll be safe here," he whispered. "I’ll handle the rest."

He stood carefully, moving with the kind of control that only came when he wanted to stay. When he didn’t trust the walls to hold without him there.

Edward stepped forward soundlessly, already understanding.

"I’ll watch him," Edward said, adjusting the room’s internal ward netting with a wave of his hand. "No one gets in or out without me knowing. Not even you."

"Good," Damian replied. "He’ll sleep for a while. Don’t wake him unless the world ends."

"I’ll give him five extra minutes after that."

Damian looked at Edward. Then, softer— "Thank you."

Edward nodded. "Bring them back. Both of them."

"I will," Damian said simply.

He turned at the door, one last glance over his shoulder at the figure curled in the sheets, silver threads of moonlight catching in Gabriel’s dark hair.

Then he slipped into the corridor without a sound.

Outside, the air was colder. Harsh. The Emperor walked quickly now, his cloak snapping behind him as he moved toward the comm line already glowing with Alexander’s symbol.

—

The snow had begun to fall harder by the time Alexander reached the outer edge of the Claymore estate.

The manor loomed ahead like a memory buried in stone, with tall iron gates half-frozen and a slick, untended path. Too quiet. Not deserted, but contained.

Behind him, three other Shadows moved like wraiths, silent and masked, their presence barely stirring the air.

He made a hand signal: fan, but stay hidden.

The others melted into the snow and brush.

Alexander stepped forward alone.

He didn’t need a weapon drawn; his entire body was one. Cloaked in gray and deep blue, the faint ether threads in his coat shimmered like breath against glass as he reached the gate and pressed two fingers against the seal.

It stung. Not a rejection. A warning.

He narrowed his eyes.

Claymore sigils are old blood wards filled with reactive triggers. Whoever cast them had done so in haste but with precision. Not to keep enemies out.

To keep something in.

He moved around the perimeter until he reached the eastern wall—cracked near the greenhouse wing. A faint shimmer of residual ether curled along the stones, flickering as it adjusted to snowfall.

He tapped a signal rune against his comm crystal.

A beat passed. Then a whisper came through.

"Alexander," one of the Shadows replied. "Found signs of magical collapse near the servant wing. No bodies. No fighting. Just one warded room—twenty-seven seals, all traced to Callahan’s signature."

Alexander’s jaw clenched. "What about George?"

"Alive. Trapped inside with him. He’s been trying to break the outer lock for hours. It’s looped through Callahan’s life force."

"Then if he forces it open—"

"He kills him."

Alexander didn’t curse. He didn’t blink. He just moved.