The camp held its breath.
Lena stood at the center of the circle, her blade still sheathed, her eyes fixed on Damon. The crowd around her had fallen silent, every wolf, every vampire, every hybrid pressing close to see what would happen next. The air was thick with tension, so heavy that it felt like a physical weight on her chest. Damon remained on his knees, his dark armor dented and torn, his sword lying in the dirt several feet away. He stared at Lena's offered hand like it was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and fresh blood from a cut on his forehead dripped down his cheek, but he did not wipe it away.
"Get up," Lena said again, her voice gentle but firm. She did not move her hand. She did not waver. "This does not have to end
