Gabe thought Pete would probably be quite willing to share with Ryland. They could torture together. It would be... something Gabe really didn't want to think about, thank you very much.
"I don't know," Gabe answered tersely. It was possible - maybe possible - that some of the love potion theory that he'd done with that one class had led to this, but they weren't dealing with full Amortentia (or Gabe would already have faked his own death and emigrated to south-east Asia). It might have been a half-arsed version of it, perhaps melded with a lesser infatuation draught of the old French school. Or perhaps it was two other things, nothing to do with anything, and Gabe didn't have to keep squashing the horrible feeling that the affronted precision of Ryland's movements was entirely his fucking fault.
"Extra study with Uncle Black Sheep in the past few years, maybe," he continued. "Or just stupid fucking luck."
Or maybe it wasn't a student. One brain-numbing problem at a time, thanks.
"Have you..." His hands paused as Gabe considered the intelligence of delving, and then got back to work as his working instincts kicked it. "Have you talked with Pete at all?"