Warlock Ch 411. Assassinated
He toweled off, stepped out, and faced the mirror again.
His eyes still carried the weight.
But they also carried fire.
He was running out of time.
But he was ready to move.
Damian pulled on a clean black undershirt, the familiar, almost ritualistic feeling of it steadying his heartbeat slightly. His fingers moved automatically—buckling his belt, adjusting the bracers over his wrists, sliding on the reinforced coat tailored with defensive runes stitched into the lining.
Everything felt heavier today.
Maybe it was the irony—knowing how far he'd come only to face the same kind of betrayal that broke him the first time.
Maybe it was the fading adrenaline, leaving only the cold ache behind.
Or maybe it was something deeper.
Something that said this time, you might not walk away whole.
His boots hit the floor harder than usual as he crossed the hall back toward his room.
Each step echoed differently.
Heavier.
More... final.
