Damien Pov-
She thought she got away from me last night.
Cute.
Nova Sinclair walked out of my art room flushed, gasping, confused — and I'd let her go. But I didn't stop watching. Her expression, that wild look in her eyes, was burned into me. And the painting she broke? Also burned into me.
This morning, I didn't go looking for her. I waited. She wandered straight into my reach like moths always do.
Courtyard. Bright sunlight. Sinclair clutching her books like they were body armor, trying to blend in. I cut through the crowd, steps unhurried, until my shadow swallowed her whole.
Her head snapped up. Big eyes, startled. Always startled.
"Sinclair."
She stiffened like a deer about to bolt. "D-Damien."
I tilted my head. "You owe me."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
I let a beat of silence hang there before I leaned down, calm as a knife sliding into flesh. "Last night. My room. You broke something."
