Damon's POV
The night stretched on endlessly, each minute dragging me further into exhaustion, though I’d never admit it. I hadn’t slept—not even a second—and I wasn’t about to start now. Every sound in the pack house, every creak of wood or distant shuffle, had me snapping to attention, my wolf coiled tight with unease. Aria had stirred a few times, murmuring my name in her sleep, her voice so faint it barely registered. She’d smile weakly, her eyes fluttering closed again before I could even respond. It was killing me, seeing her like this.
I paced the front room, my boots heavy against the floor. Ezra was already there, perched on the arm of a chair, his usual charm dampened by worry. He glanced up as I moved past him for what must’ve been the fiftieth time.
“Damon,” he said, his ton
