Whatever the reason, here I was again, standing in front of Damian Moretti’s house.
The air carried the faint scent of freshly cut grass, sharp and clean, contrasting the heavy dread that always gathered in my chest whenever I walked through those gates. I braced myself for the usual, his stormy glare, his sharp tone, the way he somehow managed to make every word feel like a test I was destined to fail.
But when he opened the door and stepped aside to let me in, I froze.
The scowl was still there, sort of,but softer. Muted, like he hadn’t bothered to sharpen it into a weapon today. His dark eyes didn’t cut into me the way they usually did. They just… lingered. And in that lingering, I thought I caught something I hadn’t seen before.
Relief.
It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake the
