Damon POV
At some point, I must’ve drifted.
Sleep never comes easily. Not since the purge. Not since the war. Not since I buried the last person I ever cared about.
But tonight… The dream comes hard and fast. And it comes hungry.
She’s there - standing in the forest clearing, silvered in moonlight, the hem of her cloak soaked in dew and ash.
Her hair is loose, tangled from running, falling like shadows down her back. The ripped tunic slips off one shoulder, exposing the mark I saw earlier - no longer faint, no longer quiet. It glows, pulsing with soft silver light that traces across her collarbone like it’s alive.
Like it’s calling me.
I don’t move. But she does.
She comes toward me slowly, barefoot, steady, like she’s walking a path already written in her bones. Her eyes are calm
