“What are you doing?”
The voice rang through the air like a sudden c***k of thunder—unwelcome, piercing, and yet achingly familiar. Cent hadn’t heard it in days. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes darted to the figure standing between her and Apollo Sky.
It was him.
Damon.
And just like that, the space between her and Apollo collapsed into a charged silence, thick with recognition and old, unspoken things.
“Damon,” Maleficent breathed, folding her arms slowly, deliberately. Her eyes narrowed, and one brow lifted with practiced disdain. Her composure was a blade drawn under moonlight—sharp, controlled, and ready.
For the nth time, her interrogation of Apollo Sky the Loyal had been interrupted. And of course, it had to be him. Damon the Prideful. Her chaos in human form.
“Y
