Damien’s POV
“I need answers,” I said without looking at her on our way home
She pressed back against the seat, hands folded in her lap, trying to disappear into the leather. I could feel her eyes on me, cautious but curious, and it made my chest tighten in a way I hated to admit. Her hands flexed once, twice, like she was testing herself against the restraint of the car. She didn’t speak, didn’t move, just kept that steady tension like she thought silence would save her.
I didn’t bother asking again. I kept my eyes on the road, my good arm gripping the wheel, my injured arm pressed against my side. Every turn, every bump reminded me that I was still bleeding, still alive, still aware that she’d been watching me. She had that look of someone trying to figure me out while pretending she
