(Nova POV)
Sunlight cut through the hotel curtains in sharp, unforgiving lines.
I woke up curled on my side, still wearing the black gown from the auction, the fabric twisted and wrinkled around my legs like a bad dream I couldn't shake. My neck throbbed under the bandage. My wrists stung from the ropes that had bound me days ago. The curse was quiet now—humming low, almost gentle—but it felt heavier somehow. Like it had taken root deeper inside me.
I blinked against the light.
Damien was already up.
He stood by the window, back to me, phone in one hand, the fake Germ of Orion's velvet box in the other. He hadn't changed—same dark shirt, sleeves rolled, hair slightly messy from running his fingers through it all night. He looked calm. Controlled. Lethal. Like he hadn't slept either.
He turned when he heard me stir.
Eyes met mine.
Dark.
Steady.
Unreadable.
"You're awake."
His voice was low. Rough from lack of sleep. No softness. No warmth. Just fact.
