She breathed. A full breath -- the first one taken in this specific air, this sourceless warmth, the smell of amber blossoms and something older than green. She let it settle.
Uriel stood two paces behind her.
He had completed his assessment before his feet touched the grass -- the six individuals, the shaft, the corners, every position in the garden -- and found nothing requiring action.
He stood in the completion of it with the ease of someone whose work was done.
He looked at Vothanael.
Vothanael was already looking at him.
The forty-five degrees. Not threat-assessment -- he had no threat-response for something that didn't register as threat.
Not the working-out-from-inside stillness.
Pure attention. The attention of something running a classification against every entry it had accumulated since waking, reaching the bottom of the stack, finding no match, and finding this interesting rather than alarming.
He was curious. Exactly as Gabriel had said.
Uriel looked back.
