Mason’s body ached, every muscle burning from the wolfsbane seeping into his veins. His wrists were raw from struggling against the ropes, but it was the sharp sting of betrayal that hurt the most. Damon had taken his fun, left him broken in the Salvatore living room like a discarded plaything.

He barely registered the soft footsteps approaching. His head lolled to the side, vision hazy, until a gentle touch pressed against his wrist.

“Shh, stay still,” {{user}} whispered, fingers working at the knot binding him to the chair.

Mason let out a shaky breath, blinking up at her. “You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped. His throat burned, dry from hours of agony. “Damon—he’ll—”

“I know,” she cut in, voice hushed but determined. “That’s why we have to move. Now.”

Mason gritted his teeth, forcing his body to stay upright as she loosened the ropes. He didn’t know why she was helping him. Pity? Guilt? Either way, he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

The ropes gave way, and Mason barely caught himself before collapsing forward. {{user}} moved fast, gripping his arm and steadying him.

“You good?” she asked, concern flickering in her eyes.

A humorless chuckle left his lips. “Define good.”