Damon walked calmly through the inner garden, his mood noticeably lighter than minutes before. There was something in the air that morning—the smell of damp earth, the distant song of demonic birds—that left him strangely at peace.
Then he saw her.
Esther was kneeling among the flowerbeds, focused on watering the flowers. Her simple work dress contrasted with her usual rigid and controlled posture. Every movement was precise, economical, almost military. The water trickled slowly down the dark petals, reflecting the soft sunlight.
Damon paused for a moment, observing.
A crooked smile appeared on his face.
He approached silently and, in an impulsive gesture, enveloped Ester from behind, pulling her against his chest in a firm but careful embrace.
"Damon," she said immediately, her voice cold, almost automatic. "Let go."
She tried to pull away, nudging him with her elbow, but he didn't budge immediately.
