Damian didn’t give me time to breathe, let alone think.
“Pack a bag,” he ordered, his voice low and threaded with steel. “Clothes for two days. Nothing more.”
I stood frozen in my doorway, still in the oversized sweater I’d thrown on after the long, restless night. “Two days? Damian, where are we—”
“Aria.” He turned sharply, his gaze pinning me into place. “Do what I said.”
There were moments with him when resistance felt like standing in front of a hurricane. This was one of them. His posture was too controlled. His jaw too tense. His eyes too alert, searching shadows that only he seemed to see.
Something had gone very, very wrong.
Without another word, I slipped inside my room and began packing. A few clothes. My sketchbook. Toothbrush. Chargers. Everything felt too small, too frag
