Bound By The Living Yama
He sighed, threw off the covers, and padded downstairs to the kitchen.
The house was dark, silent. He filled the jug at the sink, the sound of running water too loud in the quiet. Then he felt it.
A presence.
He looked up, heart hammering
And there he was.
Damien stood in the hallway, half-hidden in shadow. His hair was disheveled, falling across his forehead. His eyes those eyes that usually held nothing but cold control were red Haunted. His suit was rumpled, dusty, nothing like the immaculate man who had commanded the room at the press conference the day before.
Sikat na Kabanata