(Elara)
Jaxon’s house hadn’t changed at all. It still had the same faded posters on the wall, same half-finished art project on the corner desk, same couch that still held the imprint of our shared memories, some sweet, some bitter.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he said, tossing his keys on the table and avoiding my gaze. “Towels are clean. You both can get ready in my room.”
Camila was already halfway down the hall, a duffelbag I had no idea about slung over her shoulder. “Shotgun the mirror!” she shouted.
I looked around in the living room, staring at the familiar space, letting nostalgia sink its claws into me. Everything felt too close, too loud. Maybe it wasn’t Damon I was running from after all.
“Still fits you,” Jaxon said softly.
I turned. “What do you mean?,”
“This place. Th
