The corridor outside Damon De Luca's apartment was silent.
It was an unsettling kind of silence.
And right in the center of that silence stood Ciara Anderson.
Damon's footsteps slowed the moment his gaze landed on her.
He didn't look surprised. He never did.
With his hands shoved deep into his pockets and a posture that screamed 'lethal indifference,' he stopped a few paces away. The dim yellow glow of the hallway lights hit the sharp planes of his face, casting long, jagged shadows that only made his expression look colder.
"What are you doing here?"
His voice was flat. Emotionless.
Ciara lifted her chin. She had expected this. She had practically rehearsed for the wall of ice he always put up.
"I was waiting," she replied, her voice steady despite the hammer of her heart.
Damon didn't even blink. He reached out and swiped his keycard against the lock.
Click.
"That's not an answer," he said, not bothering to look back at her.
