Aria's POV
The crash came from somewhere down the hall.
Glass. Sharp. Violent.
It wasn't the kind of sound you could mistake for anything else—not a dropped cup, not a tray tipping over. This was deliberate. This was meant to be heard.
Before I could even turn toward it, Damon's arm was around me, the press of muscle and heat forcing me back against the wall.
His body blocked mine completely, his gaze locked on the shadows beyond the doorway. Every muscle in him went still, tense in a way that sent a chill through me.
His jaw flexed, his breathing slow but deep—measured, like he was counting the seconds.
Somewhere ahead, footsteps crunched over glass. Slow. Unhurried. Coming closer.
"Stay behind me," he ordered, voice low but edged with steel.
Damon—"
"Not up for discussion."
The cold finality in his tone stopped me from arguing. His jaw was locked, his shoulders squared, and every muscle in his body was taut.
