The darkness didn't just exist; it possessed weight.
It settled over my shoulders like wet earth, pressing against my eyelids, my skin, the back of my throat, until breathing felt like an act of defiance.
I reacted before I had a conscious thought. My body, trained for a decade to respond to threats with violence, spun toward the source of the sound. My pistol was drawn, the weight of the steel familiar and grounding, my finger hovering just off the trigger. I swept the darkness, my pulse thundering, waiting for the flicker of a shadow, the crunch of a boot, the heat of a breath.
Nothing.
A hand clamped onto my wrist.
I didn't flinch. I didn't scream. I went rigid. It wasn't the violent grab of an enemy, but the firm, controlled grip of an ally. Damien. He didn't pull me; he simply he
