Aria’s POV

The world settles around me like warm water, thick and muted, as though the air itself is holding its breath. For a beat I drift in the blur — light smeared, iron sharp at the back of my tongue — and then everything sharpens into place.

Pine smoke. Damp wool. The faint hiss of wind through a cracked window.

Moonlight spills through the broken pane and rests on Damon’s face like a benediction.

He lies beside me, so still he could be carved from stone. His chest rises in ...