“You’re always so busy,” I said casually. “Figured you wouldn’t want me bothering you over something so small.”
He stepped closer, his eyes flicking between the dying flames and me. “Small? Elara, that box held everything—our memories, our bond. Why are you acting like none of it matters?”
Bond? Pff. I shrugged, my face unreadable. “Because it doesn’t anymore.”
His shoulders slumped as he stood beside me, watching the ashes scatter in the night breeze. The scene was painfully ironic—he was the one who’d wrecked our bond, yet here he was, acting like he still cared.
I turned to head back toward the packhouse, but Damon reached out and pulled me into his arms. His familiar cologne overwhelmed me, making me sneeze. He didn’t let go, though, holding me tighter like he was desperate to fix everything with a single hug.
“Are you sick?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern. “I’m sorry, Elara. I know I’ve been distant lately. Let me make it up to you. We can start over—build new memories, even better ones.”
If this had been months ago, I might’ve melted at his words. But after everything—after watching him prioritize Serena and her needs over me—I couldn’t pretend anymore.