(Damien POV)
The jet cabin was too quiet.
Too small.
Too full of her.
Nova sat across from me, knees drawn up under my jacket, the black gown from the auction still clinging to her like a second skin. Wrinkled. Stained. Beautiful in a way that made my chest ache. She stared out the window, face pale, eyes distant. The bond thrummed between us—low, warm, insistent—like a second heartbeat I couldn't silence. Every time she shifted, I felt it tug. Every time she exhaled, I felt it echo in my ribs.
I hadn't slept.
Hadn't closed my eyes once since we left the hotel.
How could I?
Elara was still out there.
The real Germ of Orion was still in her hands.
And Nova—
Nova was still here.
Still breathing.
Still alive.
Because of me.
Because I'd caught her.
Because I'd held her.
Because I'd promised I wouldn't let go.
And now I was sitting here, staring at her like a fool, trying to convince myself that promise didn't mean anything.
It did.
It meant everything.
