The ride back to the estate was silent.
Eve sat between Damon and Silas in the back of the SUV, Damian driving with white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. No one spoke about what had just happened in the dungeon. About Cassandra's screams. About the blood on Eve's hands. About the cold, ruthless efficiency with which their mate had extracted every piece of information before ending the traitor's life.
When they finally reached the house, the sun was just beginning to rise....painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that felt obscene after the darkness they'd just left behind.
They gathered in Damian's office....their usual war room for serious discussions. Damian poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter, the amber liquid catching the early morning light. Damon sprawled in one of the leather chairs, his energy restless and agitated. Silas leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking Eve's every movement.
