Lila
The wind shifted across the training courtyard, cool and clean, carrying the scent of crushed grass and something sharp beneath it—metal, sweat, tension. I stood beneath the colonnade, half-hidden in shadow, watching Damon move.
He wasn’t sparring. Not really. Just going through the motions with Ronan, blade arcing through the air in tight, practiced sweeps. Efficient. Detached. Mechanical.
And when he paused to wipe his brow, his eyes—those usually unreadable, storm-dark eyes—lifted and found mine.
Only for a moment. Long enough to land. Long enough to ache.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t frown, either. Just… looked. Like I was a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved.
Then he turned back to Ronan and gave a short nod. The match resumed, but I was already walking away, pulse ringing in my e
