"I... I just killed someone."
Damon didn't respond immediately. His eyes moved across Victor's face, not searching for the words, but for what lived behind them. Regret, fear or something caught between the two.
What he found was neither.
Victor's chest rose and fell heavily, but his expression wasn't shaken. It was strained, as if something inside him were being held in place rather than breaking apart.
"…Who?" Damon asked quietly.
Victor's jaw tightened. His gaze drifted past Damon's shoulder, unfocused, as if the scene were still playing out somewhere just behind him.
"I only went for supplies." His voice was measured, deliberate, the voice of someone choosing words carefully, or trying to. "They came out of nowhere. Two of them." A beat. "Fast."
His eyes refocused.
"If it weren't for my healing, I'd have been dead the moment I stepped through the door."
