Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 282 - 277: We Need to Talk

Gabriel stared at Edward, utterly betrayed by the air in the room.

"Did he really say that?"

Edward didn’t even bother to glance up. "He wrote it. In bold. With underlines. Twice."

Gabriel dropped back onto the pillows with the dramatic flair of a dying opera queen. "I am never going to be able to look that man in the face again."

"Good," Damian said cheerfully. "He works better when you’re scared of him."

"I’m not scared," Gabriel snapped.

"Then come to the appointment," Edward said, holding up the folder like it was a warrant. "It’s scheduled for thirty minutes from now."

Gabriel groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. "This is medical bullying. There are laws."

"Not in the imperial wing," Edward said. "Just protocols. And Dr. Marin wrote those too."

"You’re all traitors."

Damian crouched beside the bed with the kind of amused patience that meant he had absolutely no intention of helping unless begged. "You’re not getting out of this, Gabriel. And the longer you delay, the more he’ll prep extra tests. You want him to start collecting blood samples again?"

Gabriel lowered the blanket just enough to glare. "I already bled for this Empire."

"And you’ll do it again," Edward said, stepping back. "Preferably with breakfast."

—

Thirty-four minutes and one painfully small bite of toast later, Gabriel was limping down the corridor in fresh clothes and suspicious silence, flanked by Damian on one side and two Shadows on the other—though neither of them dared breathe wrong with Gabriel’s glare turned to ’lethal.’

The physician’s wing was unusually quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that preceded long appointments, invasive questions, and diagnostic tools that glowed when they shouldn’t.

"I swear," Gabriel muttered under his breath, "if he tries to put anything in me, I will bite."

"You said that last time," Damian murmured, not helpfully. "You did bite."

"Because he used a cold speculum in a warm room—and smirked. That’s a war crime and he still documented it for you to find out."

Damian was still laughing quietly when Edward knocked once and opened the door to Dr. Marin’s private examination chamber. It wasn’t the normal ward—it was larger, cleaner, and suspiciously more organized. There were ether monitors embedded into the walls, soft clinical lighting, and a single desk lined with seven sealed vials and a tray of tools that Gabriel chose to ignore on principle.

Dr. Marin didn’t look up at first. He was writing in a thick logbook, the kind bound in reinforced leather, with faded creases at the corners that suggested long use and, more suspiciously, regular encryption. The room was too quiet—no clatter of tools, no idle commentary, just the soft scratch of a pen.

Gabriel stepped in warily, his eyes scanning the chamber. It wasn’t like the other exam rooms. For one, it was unnervingly sterile. Not clinically—but strategically. Everything was bolted down or locked up. There were no open trays. No loose instruments. Even the vials on the shelf were sealed with personalized arcane wax—one of which, Gabriel noted, bore the sigil of the Shadows.

He frowned.

"Lie down," he said without turning around. "And take off your shirt. The Emperor can sit if he promises not to interfere."

Gabriel didn’t move right away.

He was still staring at the vial.

The sigil wasn’t fresh. It was worn at the edges, faded from time, like someone had tried to scrub it out and failed. But it was unmistakable—flame and blade, the mark of a unit that technically didn’t exist.

He slid his gaze back toward Marin, who hadn’t looked up yet.

"I’m not undressing until you tell me why there’s a Shadow-encoded vial behind your desk," Gabriel said evenly.

"That depends," Marin replied, flipping a page in his logbook. "Are you going to start following instructions like a patient, or are we doing your usual routine where I restrain my sarcasm and you pretend not to faint?"

Gabriel arched a brow. "You’re deflecting."

"And you are overdue for a scan, shirt, Gabriel."

Gabriel peeled it off slowly, lowering himself onto the exam recliner with a wince. "If I start glowing, I’m blaming you."

"If you start glowing," Marin muttered, finally snapping the log shut, "I’m sedating you and logging it as a natural disaster."

Damian, seated now by the far wall, made no sound—but his gaze never left Gabriel.

Marin moved with practiced ease, attaching the monitor band to Gabriel’s wrist and pressing two cool fingers under his sternum. His expression didn’t shift as the screen lit up in a soft blue pulse.

"Still high," Marin murmured, eyes on the monitor. "Residual saturation in the abdominal stream, traces of external tether compression around the lower spine—but the fetus is stable. Strong."

Gabriel didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly, "You’re too specific."

Marin glanced at him, unbothered. "I’m thorough."

"No," Gabriel said, watching him now. "You’re exact. And the terminology you use is not clinical. Not for this wing. Not even for an imperial physician."

He paused, gaze narrowing. "You’re not just a physician."

"No," Marin admitted, dry as ever. "But I am a damn good one. Now take your pants off before I start assigning you reading."

Gabriel didn’t move immediately. He was still watching him, eyes sharper now, less suspicion, more confirmation than before.

"Are you technically cleared for this?" he asked, voice low.

Marin snapped on a fresh pair of gloves with surgical calm. "Gabriel, I’m cleared to write my own clearance. And you? Are five seconds from getting a sedative if you so much as flinch when I check your hip alignment."

"That sounds like an abuse of power."

"That is an abuse of power," Marin said, already adjusting the incline of the exam bed. "And I am more than happy to repeat it if needed."

Gabriel sighed and stripped down with a wince. "So much for modesty."

"You surrendered that the moment you screamed in four different octaves during heat," Marin replied, deadpan. "Now breathe."

Cool fingers pressed low against his abdomen, unflinching and precise. The monitor blinked to life in a soft pulse of etherlight.

"Residual saturation," Marin murmured. "Concentrated along the spinal axis, compression points fading. No structural tearing. Fetal imprint is strong, bond threads are reinforcing normally."

He paused.

"Secondary interference has nearly collapsed. One more alignment push should neutralize it completely."

Gabriel’s brows furrowed. "You keep saying ’secondary.’ As in... an actual second tether."

Marin said nothing.

Gabriel looked up, voice quiet but sharp. "You’ve been using field terms. Not civilian. Not even imperial clinic-grade. These are structural diagnostics. Asset-level."

Marin clicked his tongue. "Took you long enough."

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. "You’re not just a physician."

"No," Marin replied, unbothered. "But I am a damn good one. And I’ve patched enough burned-out operatives to know what a soul tether looks like when it’s bleeding through the spine."

Gabriel went still. "So you knew."

"Since your second scan. I told you, in my own way. But you were too busy bleeding ether and insulting my equipment."

Gabriel didn’t blink. "What was it?"

"That’s above my clearance to say," Marin replied smoothly. "Ask your mate."

Gabriel’s gaze slid to Damian—seated in the far chair, silent and coiled like a storm held just beneath the skin.

"You knew?" Gabriel asked, his voice quiet.

Damian’s golden eyes didn’t waver. "I confirmed it three days ago."

Gabriel exhaled slowly. "That’s when you—"

"Broke the wall at the Shadow base," Marin finished for him, mildly. "I wasn’t there, but word travels. Apparently he used ether and a fist. Ripped the fist to the bone."

Gabriel turned his head slowly toward Damian.

"We need to talk," he said, voice low.