Damon heard Seraphine's voice without being in the courtyard.
Not the exact words. Ester's deaf room was doing its job. The basins of water in the corners, the ground stone along the edges, the thick cloths at the door, and the absence of loose metal muffled everything. Even so, some vibrations crossed through. Not sound. Intention. Presence. A light pressure against the senses, like fingers testing a lock.
He was sitting on the bed, back against the wall, bandaged wrist resting on his knee. Ester was beside him, but she did not speak. She did not need to. She watched the rhythm of his breathing, the temperature of his skin, the way his fingers contracted every time something outside changed.
Damon hated it.
