The tunnels hummed faintly with the distant rattle of trains. Elena couldn't sleep. She sat cross-legged on the cold floor, the knife balanced across her knees, eyes fixed on the man across the room.
Damian lay with his arm draped over his eyes, feigning rest. But she knew him too well. He wasn't asleep.
"Do you ever think about it?" she asked suddenly.
His arm shifted just enough to reveal one eye. "Think about what?"
She tilted her head, studying him. "Don't play dumb."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "I'd never dream of it."
Her jaw clenched. "That night. Before it all went to hell."
His expression flickered—just for a second—before he rolled onto his side to face her. "Every damn day."
The words landed like a gut punch. For a moment, the subway room dissolved, and she was back in that candlelit restaurant—wine glasses between them, his laughter warm, her guard down for the first time in years. Then came the fire. The screams. The betrayal.
"You lied to me," she said, voice shaking despite herself.
He didn't flinch. "Yes."
The simplicity of it rattled her. No excuses. No denials. Just truth.
"Why?" she whispered.
Damian sat up slowly, bracing his arms on his knees. His eyes were dark, shadowed. "Because telling you the truth would've put a target on your back. And I thought…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I thought I could keep you out of it."
Her laugh was bitter, sharp. "How'd that work out?"
He huffed something that wasn't quite amusement. "About as well as us pretending we were normal."
For a beat, silence. Their eyes locked, the distance between them charged with things unsaid.
Elena finally tore her gaze away, running a hand through her damp hair. "You always were an arrogant bastard."
"And you always loved me anyway," he said softly.
Her chest constricted. She looked at him sharply, but he wasn't smirking this time. His face was bare, open, unguarded in a way she hadn't seen since before everything fell apart.
For a dangerous heartbeat, she almost believed him again.
Then, mercifully, the silence broke. A low rumble shook the floor—a subway train rattling past. Elena seized the distraction, standing quickly, knife in hand. "Get some sleep, Damian. You'll need it."
He leaned back against the wall, watching her with unreadable eyes. "Sweet dreams, Elena."
But neither of them dreamed. Not that night.