Damon
I was angry.
No.
I was indignant.
The tavern was nearly empty, the air thick with the stale smell of sweat, old wood, and spilled ale. A single candle flickered on the table in front of me, the dim glow throwing shadows across the cracked walls. My fingers drummed against the wood as I waited, jaw tight, every muscle in my body coiled like a bowstring.
The door creaked open at last, and Selene slipped inside. She pulled the hood of her cloak tighter, as though afraid someone would see her. When she reached the table, I caught the edge of her perfume, sweet as usual, floral and cloying. It used to stir something in me once upon a time. Now, it only reminded me of poison.
“You are late,” I muttered.
“You are alive,” she shot back, sliding into the chair opposite me. Her voice wa
