Page 50 of Lords of Ruin: Savage

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he counters easily. “You look like you’re about to pass out, and the last thing I need is to drag your unconscious ass out of here. Let’s go.”

I hesitate, glancing at Vincent, but Damien doesn’t give me a chance to argue. He steps closer, lowers his voice. “Willow, he’s not waking upright now. You sitting here starving yourself won’t change anything.”

The words sting, mostly because they’re true. I let out a slow breath, nodding reluctantly. “Fine.”

Damien holds the door open, and I follow him into the hall, my legs heavy, my body sluggish. It’s only when we step into the elevator that I realize how drained I feel.

The cafeteria is nearly empty when we get there, the scent of stale coffee and disinfectant clinging to the air. Damien grabs a tray, loading it with food like he’s on autopilot—two sandwiches,a bottle of water, a cup of soup. He shoves it toward me without a word.

I stare at it. My stomach churns. I’m not hungry. I don’tdeserveto be hungry.

But Damien gives me a look, the kind that says ‘Don’t start with me.’

So I pick up the sandwich, take a small, mechanical bite. It tastes like cardboard, but I chew anyway. The cafeteria hums with low conversations and the occasional clatter of trays, but it all feels distant, like I’m underwater.

I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “It should’ve been me.”

Damien, halfway through a sip of coffee, pauses. His grey eyes flick to me, sharp and assessing. “What?”

I keep my gaze on the table, my hands tightening around the sandwich. “Vincent got hurt because of me. If I hadn’t run, if I hadn’t—” My throat closes, and I shake my head. “He’s lying in that bed because ofme.”

Damien sets his cup down with a quietthud. “That’s not how this works, Willow.”

“Yes, it is,” I insist, my voice cracking. “Ricardo attacked me, and I killed him. Ikilledhim, Damien.” The confession hangs between us, heavy and unshakable. “What kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you someone who survived. That bastard tried to kill you.” His jaw flexes. “You’re not a monster for killing him first, Willow. You’re not a monster forenjoyingit.”

Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. “Then why do I feel like one?”

Damien exhales through his nose, his gaze softening just slightly. “Because you still think you have to be good to deserve to be alive.” He shakes his head. “You don’t. You just have tobealive.”

I don’t respond. I don’t know how. But when Damien pushes the bottle of water toward me, I take it with a shaky hand.

I take a sip of the water, letting the silence stretch between us. Damien watches me, his fingers tapping idly against the table. He’s always so composed, so unreadable, but right now, there’s a look in his eyes—something I can’t quite name.

I set the bottle down, licking my lips. “Are we going to talk about it?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Talk about what?”

I huff a quiet laugh, leaning back in my chair. “You know what.”

Damien looks away, his jaw tightening. “It was just a kiss, Willow.”

My stomach twists, but I don’t back down. “It wasn’tjusta kiss. Not to me.”

He exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

I narrow my eyes. “But it did.”

Silence.

Damien leans forward, his steely eyes locking onto mine. “You had just been through hell. You were shaken, and I—” He stops,jaw clenching before he shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

I reach across the table, my fingers brushing against his. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move closer either. “You kissed me like youfeltsomething,” I whisper.

His throat bobs as he swallows. “I did.”

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