Evelina didn't remember getting back to Damian's chambers.
The hallways all started to look the same as she moved quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound. She held the pearl tightly in her hand; it felt cold and lifeless. By the time she grasped the door handle, the blood under her nose had already dried.
All she remembered was warmth.
A familiar scent. The gentle sound of Damian's breathing. The soft brush of fur blankets as she climbed into bed, curling into the place where his body had left heat behind.
And then—
A shift.
He stirred beside her, his voice rough with sleep, "Eve?"
She didn't answer.
His arm reached out instantly, pulling her close. His hand pressed against her back, soothing, grounding. "You're cold," he murmured, frowning against her hair. "Where did you go?"
Still, she said nothing.
He didn't push.
Didn't ask again.
He just held her—like a promise.
