Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega-Chapter 167: The friendship

Rafael’s eyes lit up. "Good."

Adam looked back at him, suspicious. "Why good?"

Rafael’s tone turned wicked. "Because if we are becoming friends, I want to see how you handle him in real time. Consider this educational."

Adam let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "You really are serious."

"I am," Rafael said, serene and merciless all at once. "And for the record, if anyone gives you trouble for being ’a civilian,’ send them to me."

Adam blinked. "Rafael—"

"No, truly," Rafael said, with the sweet politeness of a man offering tea and violence in the same breath. "I have been looking for a healthier hobby."

That did it.

Adam laughed outright, the sound genuine enough that Max, now close enough to hear the tail end of it, slowed and narrowed his eyes with theatrical offense.

"Why," Max asked, hand settling at Adam’s back as he looked between them, "does it sound like the two of you just formed an alliance against me?"

Rafael smiled at him with perfect innocence.

"We did nothing of the sort."

Adam, still smiling, glanced at Max and said, "He called this circle the most normal people in the room."

Max stared.

Then he looked around at Damian, Gabriel, Gregoris, Alexandra, and the nobles visibly avoiding eye contact.

He put a hand over his heart. "That is the nicest lie anyone has told me tonight."

Rafael’s laughter came quickly and brightly this time, and Adam’s shoulders relaxed completely as the three of them fell into step at the edge of the hall, still surrounded by etherlight, politics, and polished danger, but with something simpler taking shape nonetheless.

—

The ether car purred like a well-fed predator.

The sound was low and expensive, a controlled hum emanating from a core of compressed ether and engineering arrogance, the type that House Claymore insisted on because if you were going to leave a palace, you might as well do so as if you owned the road as well.

Outside the tinted windows, the inner court of the imperial palace slid past in clean lines - carved stone, ward-lit arches, and guards in dark uniforms standing at attention beneath lamps that glowed with soft etherlight instead of flame. The night air carried the faint, metallic crispness that always clung to the palace grid, like the building itself exhaled power.

In the front, the driver eased them out, one hand steady on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing the console where the ward interface displayed quiet confirmations: clearance granted, route secured, perimeter open.

In the back seat, Noah was sprawled across Adam like a small, determined creature who had discovered the concept of possession and decided to apply it immediately.

He was one now, which meant he had become both heavier and more opinionated, and his hair stuck up in a way that suggested he’d been wrestled into formalwear earlier and had taken personal offense.

His tiny fingers were fisted in Adam’s shirt. One foot had found Adam’s thigh and planted there like a flag.

Noah sucked thoughtfully on a piece of biscuit as if contemplating the collapse of empires.

Adam held him with one arm, the other hand occasionally smoothing down Noah’s back when the child shifted. His collar was slightly undone. There was the faintest red mark at the edge of his neck where Max had once claimed him, and the world had never quite forgiven either of them for it.

Max sat opposite them, perfectly relaxed.

Too relaxed.

He had the posture of a man who had spent the entire evening surrounded by nobles and had not once been forced to pretend he cared what they thought. One ankle rested over his knee, hands loose, eyes bright with the lingering amusement of someone who would go home and still find ways to stir chaos just to stay warm.

He watched Noah for a moment, then looked at Adam.

"So," Max said pleasantly, "how was your new friendship?"

Adam didn’t look up. "It was peaceful."

Max’s smile sharpened. "That sounds suspicious."

"It wasn’t," Adam said, still calm. "Which is why you’re upset."

Max sighed as if burdened by tragedy. "I’m not upset."

Noah chose that moment to lift his head, stare directly at Max, and make a firm, thoughtful sound.

"Da."

Max’s entire face changed.

It was so fast it should have been illegal.

All the sharpness softened at once, the way it always did when his son decided to acknowledge him like he was something other than a convenient adult with snacks.

Max leaned forward slightly. "Yes, terror?"

Noah stared with the grave intensity of a tiny judge. Then he extended his biscuit toward Max.

Not offering, but demanding tribute.

Adam’s mouth twitched. "You’re being taxed."

Max looked delighted. "As I should be."

He took the biscuit with exaggerated care, as if receiving a holy relic, then immediately broke off a piece and held it back out.

Noah took it, satisfied, and resumed sucking on it like a creature who had just successfully negotiated a treaty.

Adam watched the exchange with the kind of quiet affection that had never once required noble approval to exist.

"You’re going to spoil him," he said.

Max didn’t even blink. "I already did. It’s irreversible now."

Adam huffed a laugh, and Noah pressed his forehead against Adam’s chest like he agreed with both of them and also required immediate cuddling.

For a few seconds, the only sound was the purr of the ether engine and the faint chime of the ward interface as the car crossed from the palace’s inner perimeter to the secured outer route.

Then Max spoke again, too casual.

"So," he said, eyes on Adam, "Rafael likes you."

Adam glanced up at him. "Rafael doesn’t know me."

"He doesn’t have to," Max said easily. "He has eyes."

Adam narrowed his gaze. "This is the part where you say something that makes me regret being in a moving vehicle with you."

Max looked wounded. "Me? Never."

Noah, sensing tension the way children did, purely through vibes and instinct, turned his head and stared at Max again, as if checking whether he needed to intervene.

Max smiled at him. "Don’t worry, I’m behaving."

Noah blinked slowly.

Then, with the solemn authority of an heir in training, he pointed at Max’s chest.

"Da," he said again, but this time it sounded less like yes and more like you.

Max’s brows lifted. "Yes, me."

Noah opened his mouth and produced his second word with full confidence and zero accuracy.

"Mine."

Adam froze.

Max froze.

The driver in the front, professionally silent, very clearly did not react because his life depended on not reacting.

Adam’s eyes widened. "Noah—"

Noah repeated it, louder, as if volume would improve his diction. "Mine."

Max stared at his child like he had just been presented with a prophecy.

Then his mouth curved into something dangerously pleased.

Adam’s voice went flat. "Do not encourage him."