Page 79 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

I step forward, putting my hand on his arm, grounding him, even if just for a moment. “Damien, youarehere. And you’re doing the best you can. That’s all you can do.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, and I think he might finally let himself believe it. But then he pulls away, his eyes clouded with doubt and frustration.

“I can’t stand seeing you in this mess,” he says harshly, though his voice cracks again. “I can’t stand knowing I might not be able to keep you safe.”

The words sting, but I don’t let him see it. Instead, I take another step closer, my voice soft but firm. “You are keeping me safe. You’re here now, and that’s more than enough.”

His gaze flickers to mine, and I see the rawness in his eyes, the burden he’s carrying. He’s always been the one who had everything figured out, the one who could fix anything. But this—this situation, these things beyond his control—he doesn’t know how to handle it. And maybe he never will.

“Damien,” I say again, my voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough to catch his attention. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

His hands ball into fists at his sides, the tension radiating from him, as if he can’t quite find a way to release it. His jaw clenches, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breath. But then, without warning, he explodes.

“But you almost weren’t!” he roars, his voice raw with anguish. His eyes dart from mine to my chest... to my heart. “I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t keep you safe.” His words are jagged, painful, as if each one is cutting him more than it ever could me.

I step forward again, my hands reaching out to him, pulling his attention back to me. “Damien,” I say, more urgently this time. “I’m here. I’m still here, I’m stillalive.You’re not losing me.”

I gently place one of his hands over my chest, right above where my heart beats steadily. “Feel that?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “That’s my heart, still beating. It’s still here. It hasn’t stopped, Damien. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t move, his palm pressed firmly against me, feeling the rhythmic pulse of my heart. I can see the conflict in his eyes—his worry, his fear, his overwhelming desire to keep me safe, and his crippling belief that he failed. But then something shifts. His features soften just slightly, and I see the tightness in his shoulders ease.

“I promised you I’d protect you,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper, as though he’s admitting a vulnerability he’s never let anyone see before. “And I failed. I couldn’t keep you safe.”

I shake my head, moving even closer until the warmth of his body is pressed against mine, and I can feel the tremor in his hands. “Damien, you haven’t failed me. Youarehere. You’re here now, and that’s more than enough. You’re protecting me in every way that matters. You’re keeping me alive.”

I move in closer to him, and whisper. “It’s still beating, Damien. I’m still here. She’s still here.”

He stares down at me, his eyes filled with unshed emotion, his chest rising and falling as he tries to process the weight of it all. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his thumb brushes over my wrist, a touch that’s both tentative and intimate, like he’s making sure I’m really here. Really alive.

“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly, his voice breaking slightly, revealing the depth of his fear.

“You won’t,” I promise, my voice steady despite the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. “Not as long as we fight for each other. I’m here, Damien. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, he just looks at me, as if searching for any sign that this is real. But I don’t look away. I stand my ground,my hand still over his, letting him feel the steady beat of my heart under his palm. It’s a reminder. A promise.

And when he finally exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little, he leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “You should go to sleep.”

I look out the window, my gaze catching the dark sky, a blanket of night settling over everything. It feels surreal, almost like I’ve been swept away into a world far removed from anything familiar. The hum of the car engine has faded, the only sounds now the soft rustling of our footsteps and the occasional creak of the house settling. I almost forget, for a moment, that we’re hours away from home, hidden away in this quiet, unassuming place.

Damien stands up slowly, brushing a hand over his face as if to shake off the remnants of the tension. He turns to me, his hand gesturing toward the hallway. “Come on, I’ll show you to a room.”

I follow him, my feet dragging just a little as the exhaustion from everything weighs down on me. As we move through the quiet house, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched, like every inch of the space is somehow waiting, holding its breath.

We stop in front of a door, and Damien opens it, gesturing for me to go inside. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp by the bedside casting long shadows along the walls. It’s simple, but everything is in its place, a temporary refuge that I’m sure will feel like home in time.

I glance at the dresser, and Damien steps aside, giving me space to move. “There are some clothes in the dresser if you want to change.”

I nod, grateful for the gesture. When I open the drawer, I find a load of comfy clothes and I settle on a set of pajamas—comfy, soft fabric—but slightly too big for me. The pants are a little loose at the waist, and the shirt hangs off my shoulders, but it’s fine. It’s enough. And for some reason, the small sense of normalcy in all this chaos is exactly what I need.

I change quickly, the softness of the fabric comforting against my skin. When I emerge from the bathroom, I expect Damien to be gone, to have retreated to wherever he’s going to sleep for the night. But instead, I find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed, though his eyes remain watchful.

“You’re not leaving?” I ask softly, a flicker of confusion in my voice.

He meets my gaze, his expression warm, yet steady. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures me, his voice low, the words grounding me in this fleeting moment of calm.

A small smile tugs at my lips, and I move to sit on the bed next to him. The quiet comfort of his presence fills the space, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to breathe.

I lie back, the bed soft and inviting beneath me, and I pull my phone from my pocket, hoping to distract myself for a moment before sleep claims me. As the screen lights up, a single notification catches my eye—an email from RISD. My heart skips a beat, my breath catching in my throat. Without thinking, I tap on the message, the words in the email slowly coming into focus.

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