Elena's POV

The office was almost completely dark, except for the silver glow of the skyline spilling through the window. The overhead lights were off-Damian hated harsh lighting when he was thinking.

Or when he was pretending not to.

I was leaning against the far edge of his desk, arms folded loosely, eyes fixed on him in that leather chair like he was some unsolvable puzzle.

He wasn't writing. He never was anymore.

He was staring.

Not at me. Not even at the window.

But at his own ...