Damien’s POV
I didn’t move.
Not an inch.
I stood there—shoulders stiff, hands in my pockets, every muscle strung tight beneath my tailored suit—watching the man cross the street.
The flyer in his hand trembled in the breeze, but his grip didn’t waver. He was young. Too clean-cut to be anything but trouble. Eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled like he’d slept in them—and probably had.
But the most dangerous thing about him wasn’t the way he looked.
It was the look in his eyes.
Hope.
Raw. Stubborn. Stupid.
“Hey!” the man called, picking up speed. “Hey—hey you!”
My mouth twitched, but not into a smile.
I turned—just slightly—letting the man reach me.
“Hey—hey, excuse me!” the man called again, holding the flyer like a lifeline. His chest heaved with the effort of runn
