The smooth, bass-heavy rhythm of the R&B track vibrated through the red vinyl of the booth, but for Damon, the melody suddenly turned into a discordant, grating noise. The ambient warmth of the diner—the thick scent of maple syrup, the sizzling grease, the triumphant laughter of the basketball players clinking their glasses at the counter—suddenly curdled in his senses.
A wave of intense, visceral nausea washed over him, hitting him so hard his posture fractured. His steepled fingers dropped heavily onto the laminated table.
"Damon?" Rein asked, her voice dropping its dismissive edge as she noticed the sudden rigidity in his shoulders.
Damon didn't answer her. He cast a sharp, frantic glance toward the dark glass of the diner window. In the reflection, illuminated by the harsh crimson glare of the neon sign outside, his face looked completely bloodless. It wasn't just his usual porcelain complexion anymore; his skin had turned a translucent, ghostly marble, the faint, dark violet lines of his veins beginning to trace themselves clearly beneath his jawline. His teeth ached with a sudden, localized throb, the dormant hunger snapping awake like a coiled spring.
"Damn it," Damon hissed, a raw, bitter curse slipping past his lips as he abruptly slid out of the booth. The metal legs of the table groaned against the floor tiles from the sudden force of his movement. He pulled the collar of his leather jacket up, desperately trying to mask the rapid draining of color from his throat. "I am leaving. Enjoy the pancakes."
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and moved toward the exit, his stride flat and unnaturally fast, cutting through the crowded aisle of celebrating students like a phantom before the heavy glass doors jingled shut behind him.
In the booth, the remaining members of the team watched his sudden departure, their expressions remarkably unbothered. They didn't panic, nor did they rise to follow him. They knew the signs all too well. The rigid posture, the sudden spike in irritability, the deathly pallor—it was the standard clockwork of his nature. He was crashing, the three-year illusion of normalcy required a specific kind of fuel to maintain, and Damon's tank had just hit absolute zero and now he was craving fresh blood.
Despite their familiarity with his condition, a collective, involuntary chill rippled through the front row of the booth.
Ryan suddenly winced, a visible shudder passing through his broad frame. He raised both hands, vigorously rubbing his upper arms through his shirt as a thick layer of goosebumps erupted across his skin. "Ugh, man," Ryan muttered, his high-energy student persona completely dropping away, replaced by a look of pure, instinctive revulsion. "Every single time he gets like that, my skin just crawls. The thought of him out there right now... cornering someone in an alley behind the engineering blocks. It's sickening."
Beside him, Claire was already wrapping her denim jacket tighter around her chest, her shoulders hunched as she rubbed her arms in tandem with Ryan. Her eyes were fixed on the empty space Damon had just occupied, her face pinched in disgust.
"Don't remind me," Claire whispered, a soft shudder vibrating through her voice. "The sound of it is the worst part. I have to say the whimpering and growling, urgh, it makes me want to pull my own teeth out. I don't care how much time has passed since we lived together; I will never get used to the reality of what he has to do to stay functional."
Rein merely sighed, flipping her menu back open as the waitress returned with their first round of drinks. "He'll be fine. He knows the boundaries of the campus. Just let him hunt in the dark so we don't have to look at it."