The heavy oak door of Damien's office clicked shut behind me.
The sound felt final.
Like a judge had already passed sentence.
I didn't turn back. I couldn't. If I looked back...
At the empty chair.
At the journal still lying open.
At the room that still smelled like cedarwood and coffee...
I'd stay.
I walked down the hallway, the floorboards groaning under my boots. I was wearing his jacket—the black leather cut that smelled of cedarwood, motor oil, and the lingering ghost of the man who had effectively saved my life three times over. It hung loose across my shoulders, far too big for me.
Somehow...
It still felt like the safest place I'd ever been.
I descended the stairs into the main hall.
Moments earlier, the clubhouse had been loud. The instant my boots touched the floor, e
