The door opened.

Not fast. Not loud. Just wide enough for the light in the hall to cut across the steam-heavy air. The slice of brightness hit the tiled floor, then stretched long, crawling toward them like it wanted to split the room in half.

Damien stood there.

Not a ghost, not a trick of nerves. His hand still on the handle, his shadow framed in the door like he was carved into it. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe loud enough for anyone to hear.

But Noa knew.

He knew that ...