Winter’s POV
The air felt different when I arrived at Damon’s house today. There was a weight to it, like the atmosphere was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. I stood outside his door for a moment, my fingers hovering over the doorbell.
The blackmail messages had been quiet for a few days, but I knew better than to believe that meant they were gone. I hated the silence, the waiting.
Finally, I rang the doorbell. The sound echoed faintly, and seconds later, the door opened to reveal Damon, leaning casually against the frame.
His recovery had progressed so much in the past few weeks that he barely needed his crutches anymore. It was both a relief and a reminder of how much closer we were to the inevitable moment when he would return to the court—and to the world beyond
