“Damon, can I play some games here?”
Sloane’s voice was soft, almost timid. “I don’t want to go to the department today. I’d like to rest for a bit.”
Damon looked up at her. The faint shadows under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept well maybe because of him.
A flash of memory cut through his thoughts: Lyra’s perfume, her skin, his hands gripping her waist.
Guilt churned in his stomach.
He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing his tone to soften. “Come here.”
He patted the seat beside him. “Sit down.”
Sloane obeyed but kept a careful distance, her posture neat, reserved, as if even proximity might offend him.
“Sloane,” Damon began, lowering his voice, “I didn’t come home last night…”
“I know.” She gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re busy
