Page 12 of Fading Sun

I swallow, unsure how to say it.

He was brutally murdered by the shadow souls, minutes before the Shadow Lord kissed me and gifted me with a token of his affection.

I might not know what Damien’s feeling, but I’m positive that wouldn’t go over well right now.

Or ever.

“The shadow souls took care of him,” Cassandra fills in.

“I see.” Damien nods, and the air chills, the silence between the three of us growing so oppressive that it becomes hard to breathe.

“What happened with Viktor?” I ask, unable to avoid the question for a second longer.

“It’s done,” he says, and there’s no anger or satisfaction in his voice. Just coldness. Unfeeling, inhuman coldness.

I watch him, waiting for something more, but there’s nothing. It’s like I’m looking at a shell of who Damien used to be.

I don’t know nearly enough about his past as I’d like. But I’m sure that killing Viktor must have been one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do.

“Damien,” I say, my voice soft, searching for a trace of humanity inside him. “Are you okay?”

The second after saying it, I want to take it back. Because clearly, he’s not okay. I don’t need the duskberry bond open to tell me that.

“Viktor had this on him,” he says instead, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the Astral Compass.

Its metallic frame gleams in the night, and the amethyst in its center pulses slightly, like a heartbeat. There’s a certain magic to it that calls me to it, urging me to move closer.

The token in my pocket hums as well, as if drawn to the compass’s force. It’s almost like the compass is whispering to me, reaching out to me, and promising me safety.

I don’t realize how close I am to touching it until Damien steps back and shoves it into his pocket.

Its pull on me lessens, until it’s gone completely.

Cassandra’s watching me carefully, with the same suspicious look in her eyes that she had when I was lying about what happened with the Shadow Lord.

“Morgan’s coming back,” I tell Damien, getting it out before Cassandra can say whatever’s on her mind. “She said she has what we need, and she’ll be here tomorrow. I’m assuming it has to do with getting the potion out of me and into the compass.”

“Interesting.” Damien stares out at the World Trade Center, its tall spire like a lighthouse at the tip of the Manhattan skyline, before turning his emotionless eyes back to me. “Now, let’s get you out of here and back to the Fairmont.”

None of us speak as we make our way down the bridge that leads out of Little Island, stop at the side of the highway, and hail a cab.

Cassandra’s quick to take the middle seat.

Damien tells the driver where to go, and then he closes the plastic divider so Cassandra and I can fill him in on what happened on Little Island.

He’s unnervingly quiet as he takes it in. It’s like he’s processing it like a robot, and not like someone who cares about anyone who was there.

I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now.

The elevator ride to our floors is uncomfortably silent. Damien stands rigid, his gaze fixed up on the digital numbers ticking upward.

The doors to Cassandra’s floor slide open, and she exits swiftly, her stride purposeful and fast.

I say nothing as they close again, taking a deep breath and gathering the courage to say something to Damien.

“I’m sorry for leaving,” I tell him again. “I just couldn’t leave Abigail there to die because of me. Yannick, either.”

Yannick’s name catches in my throat as I remember the moment his body turned to ash.

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