Damon had never been the kind of man who lost sleep. War, blood, death—those things followed him like shadows, and he had learned long ago how to walk through them without looking back. His nights were always quiet, heavy with the kind of rest that came from certainty. When he closed his eyes, his mind went still.
But ever since the previous day, there was no stillness.
He sat at the edge of his stone bed, covered with thick and clean fur, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped together as he stared at nothing. The cave around him was silent, yet it felt louder than any battlefield he had ever stepped into.
Annoying!
That was the word he chose for it. Just… annoying. His jaw tightened in anger.
