The detention center smelled of metal, bleach, and silence. Aria walked beside Damon, her hand brushing his, grounding him as they followed an officer down a long corridor lined with steel doors. Damon’s jaw was locked, his muscles tense under his shirt, every step radiating a coiled, controlled fury. This wasn’t rage. This was purpose. “You don’t have to do this,” Aria whispered. “Yes,” he said, voice low, “I do.” The officer stopped outside a visitation room. “He’s already inside. Five minutes.” Damon nodded once. Aria squeezed his hand before he stepped in. “I’m right here.” He looked at her—deeply, silently, in that way that said everything he didn’t have words for—then turned and entered. The door closed behind him. Vincent Reed sat at the metal table, hands cuffed, eyes bright with something between amusement and venom. “Little brother,” he drawled. “You look terrible. Grief doesn’t suit you.” Damon froze mid-step. Vincent smirked. “You shouldn’t glare,” he conti
最終更新日 : 2026-01-16 続きを読む