THE WEIGHT OF WATCHING
Selene POV
The morning arrived wrapped in silence.
I woke to find Damon already gone, his side of the bed cold, the bond telling me he was somewhere in the packhouse's lower levels—focused, hunting, patient in a way that cost him more than he would ever admit. The surveillance on Silas had tightened overnight. Ronan's teams rotated every four hours, documenting everything: the routes he walked, the wolves he spoke to, the moments when he thought himself unobserved.
I lay in the empty bed and felt the weight of it. The watching without moving. The knowledge that someone in these walls had stood aside while Damon bled, had sent coordinates to killers, had continued their work while we buried our dead and patched our wounds. The patience Ronan demanded, that Damon had agreed to, that I had supported—it felt like drowning slowly. Like being buried alive in silence.
