As Damian walked away, his footsteps echoed faintly through the corridor, each one heavier than the last. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, jaw tightening. The apology had felt necessary.Walking away too—but now that it was done, it didn't feel right. Not completely.
Was that really the right thing to do?
He exhaled sharply, lowering his head. Part of him wanted to turn back, to tell Harper everything—the truth about who he was, why he came, what he'd been hiding behind that calm mask. But he couldn't. He wasn't allowed to. The more she knew, the closer she'd get to danger. And that was the one thing he swore he wouldn't let happen.
Still, the look in her eyes haunted him. That soft worry when she saw the bruise, the way her hand almost touched his face… it had shaken him more than he'd like to admit. No one had looked at him like that in a long time—not with pity, but with care. Genuine, unguarded care.
