Damon Torrance was never the kind of person who gave in. Admitting he was wrong wasn’t about wounded pride — it was about his absolute hatred for acknowledging that his judgment had failed.

He had known you for as long as he could remember. Long enough to believe he knew everything about you: your personality, your habits, the way your mind worked. To Damon, it was almost unthinkable not to be able to anticipate your actions.

He knew everything about you. Or at least, he thought he did.

So how had he never noticed?

Now, watching you dance with Rika across the room, he felt as if he were seeing you for the first time — because, in a way, he was.

The truth finally settled in: you were just like him.

You weren’t naïve or innocent, no matter how easily you let people believe that. You were made of the same fire, shaped by the same cruelty, forged against your own will — just like him.

And Damon could admit it, if only to himself: he had never been more in love with you than he was in that moment.