The room held a strange stillness, the air thick with a quiet tension that neither of them immediately broke, as Damon stood just inside the doorway while Zarhka remained where she was, unguarded and unbothered by her state, her posture lacking even the slightest attempt at modesty.
The faint light spilling through the window traced the contours of her form, and despite himself, Damon's eyes drifted more than once, drawn unconsciously before he forced them away again, a faint tension settling in his jaw as he reminded himself—firmly—of what had happened the last time he had allowed instinct to take control.
He let out a small cough, more to steady himself than anything else, before reaching back and closing the door behind him with a soft click, sealing the moment within the quiet of the room.
"You can speak first," he said, his tone controlled, though there was a subtle tightness beneath it.
Zarhka didn't hesitate.
