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AUTHOR’S POV
The apartment was a shadowed cave, the only light a faint amber glow leaking through the blinds from a flickering streetlamp outside.
It carved sharp, uneven stripes across the hardwood floor, catching on the edges of empty beer bottles and a crumpled jacket Damon hadn’t bothered to hang up.
He sat sprawled against the headboard of his bed, the sheets a twisted wreckage around his hips—evidence of another night spent thrashing through dreams he couldn’t quite shake.
His chest heaved with a slow, uneven rhythm, each breath laced with a frustration that had been gnawing at him for days, weeks, maybe longer.
It wasn’t just the job, the endless grind of deadlines and bullshit, or the way the city seemed to press in on him lately. It was her. Sloane.
He tipped hi
