Damon
The house was too quiet.
She'd barely been gone thirty minutes, and already it felt like something vital had been unplugged. I stood by the kitchen counter, watching the steam rise from my untouched coffee, its warmth doing nothing to chase away the chill in my chest.
Wren had smiled when she left. Not her usual sarcastic smirk or forced politeness, but something softer, more reserved. And for reasons I couldn’t fully explain, it
unsettled me.
She hadn’t fought me on taking the car this time.
That alone had me on edge. No witty comebacks. No long-winded “I’m independent” speech. Just a polite thank-you and a promise to take care of it.
I hated how that small shift felt like distance.
She didn’t even ask if I wanted coffee before she left. She always asks. Hell, even when we’
