Galen wants to shoot himself (2)

Damien paused at the threshold of the infirmary, his crutch planted firmly against the ground, the afternoon light casting a pale gold outline around his figure. He didn't look back—his voice came over his shoulder, smooth and cool, like an afterthought.

"Oh, and my grades for today's quizzes…"

Another pause.

"Let's not inform Father about them."

The words were light. Teasing, almost.

But Galen felt the weight in them.

Not the threat of power this time—but the quiet acknowledgment of failure.

Damien knew.

Knew exactly how he'd performed.

And he was asking—not demanding, not ordering—for discretion.