DRAKENFELL — GAMMA QUARTERS
Dexmon Drakenfell entered Gavriel Sterling's chambers at two in the morning, carrying two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
The room was dim. Fire low. Gav was in his bed, breathing steadily, color returned, the dark veins gone.
His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell. The bandage on his shoulder was still in place, and Dex didn't know what was under it and didn't look, because he was here to drink, and drinking required a focus he was unwilling to split.
He sat in the chair beside the bed. Set both glasses on the nightstand. Poured one. Poured the other.
He placed Gav's glass beside the bed within arm's reach, which was a gesture of optimism given that the arm in question belonged to a man who hadn't moved voluntarily in over twelve hours.
Dex picked up his own glass. Held it up.
"To the Gamma." He drank. Set the glass down. Poured another.
