Damon’s breathing was steady. That was the first thing Aria noticed. Not fast. Not shallow. Steady. She was still holding him. Her arms around his shoulders. His head against her chest. “Day Fifteen,” she whispered. He didn’t answer. Her heart stuttered. “Damon?” His eyes opened. Dark. Tired. But open. “I’m here,” he said. “Stop counting my breaths.” She exhaled. She hadn’t realized she was holding hers. “You scared me.” “You always look scared,” he said. The corner of his mouth lifted. “It suits you.” She punched his arm. Light. “Idiot.” He winced. “Injured idiot.” They both laughed. Quiet. The sound was swallowed by the stone walls. Outside, the pack was silent. No bell. No shouting. Just night. Day Fifteen had begun without permission. And without end. --- Aria helped him sit up properly. She checked the bandage again. The bleeding had stopped. The black edges were still there, but less spread. “Bren’s silverthorn is working,” she said. “Slowly.”
Last Updated : 2026-06-29 Read more