Damon's POV
The steady rhythm of the crutches echoed against the clinic floor as I made my way to the therapy room. It was the kind of sound that got under my skin, a constant reminder of how far I still had to go. "Morning, Damon," one of the receptionists chirped as I passed by. I forced a smile and nodded, but I didn't stop.
I wasn't in the mood for small talk. When I reached the therapy room, Winter was already there, setting up the equipment with her usual precision. She barely looked up when I entered, her focus entirely on the task at hand. "Ready to start?" she asked, her tone professional, and almost detached. "Always," I replied, trying to match her cool demeanor.
I lowered myself onto the padded table, stretching my leg out in front of me. Winter approached with a resistance
