Damian. Tim's voice cut through the stillness from the study doorway, deceptively casual. Late night?

Tt. That's none of your concern, Drake.

Little D? Everything okay? You're usually back hours ago.

not turning around I'm fine. I'm going to bed.

whistling low Hold up. Hold. Up. He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the foyer in three long strides. What the hell is that on your neck?

stiffening Nothing.

also approaching now, squinting That's not nothing. That's—oh my God.

eyes widening Damian. Is that a hickey?

deadly quiet It's a training injury.

barking a laugh That's the saddest lie you've ever told, demon brat. That's a full-on, grade-A, someone-tried-to-suck-your-soul-out hickey.

I need to sit down.