(Damien POV)
Dawn came too soon, pale and unforgiving.
I woke on the cold ground outside the cabin, curled in the dirt like something discarded. My mouth tasted like copper and ash. The first thing I registered was the ache in my knuckles—deep, bone-bruised—and the sticky warmth coating my hands. I lifted them slowly, palms up, and stared.
Blood.
Fresh blood. Human blood. Mixed with the dried stag's from last night, but this was brighter, wetter in places. It had soaked into the creases of my palms, under my nails, streaked up my forearms in long smears. My claws were still half-extended, black and curved, refusing to retract fully until I forced them back with a grunt of pain.
No memory.
Nothing after the blackout surge inside the cabin—after Nova's light had pulled me back, after I'd dropped to my knees beside her, shaking. After that… blank. A void where time should have been.
