The sun had barely risen over the estate when Damien returned from another restless night of chasing threads that might bring them closer to Sera. He looked weary, the hard lines of exhaustion drawn deep into his face, but there was something else flickering in his eyes—an ember of purpose that Amara had learned to recognize in him.
She had just finished clearing the kitchen, the smell of baked bread lingering in the air, when Damien entered. His clothes were rumpled, his shirt darkened at the collar from sweat. She turned to him immediately, worry tightening in her chest.
“You haven’t slept,” she murmured, as though the observation could scold him into doing it.
Damien shook his head and ran a hand down his face. “There’s no time for sleep.”
“Then at least eat,” Amara insisted. She pr
