Damien’s POV:

The sunset's afterglow splashed across the castle's stone walls like blood. When I shoved open that heavy oak door, the air lacked that familiar lavender whiff—Selene's scent.

The living room sat empty, no curled-up form on the couch, no sketches tossed on the kitchen island. My gut twisted; I snatched my phone, dialing her. Straight to voicemail. Dead silence.

Bad sign. Instinct clawed my chest like wolf talons. She'd headed out early, said it was overtime. Still not ...