The room was dark when Damien stirred.
No dreams. No interruptions. Just the quiet, subtle pull of consciousness waking his body. His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the dim glow of moonlight bleeding through the window openings.
The faint rustle of leaves outside and the soft hush of wind against the walls were the only sounds that greeted him.
Evening had fully taken the sky.
Gone was the warm light of afternoon—replaced now by the deep violet of night and the glowing silver of a full moon suspended like a watchful eye above Westmont.
Stars glittered across the sky in cold constellations, their light tracing the lines of old myths Damien hadn't believed in since childhood.
He rose, rolled his shoulders once, and stepped into the chilled room. His coat hung from the wall hook, his boots lined perfectly by the door. It took him less than a minute to prepare. Everything was muscle memory now.
The quiet felt different tonight. Not tense, not ominous. Just… open.
