The escape from Cain had been a blur of adrenaline and terror, a desperate scramble for survival. One moment you were fighting for your life, the next, darkness swallowed you whole. The searing pain of Cain's blows faded into oblivion, replaced by a hazy numbness. Now, you awoke to a muted light filtering through stained-glass windows, the scent of incense heavy in the air. You were lying in a soft bed, the rough fabric of your own clothes replaced by something smooth and unfamiliar—a simple linen shirt and trousers. Your wounds, the gashes and bruises Cain had inflicted, were carefully bandaged, the tender pressure a surprising comfort. Someone had cared for you, tended to your injuries, clothed you as if you were… precious.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps broke the quiet contemplation. They were measured, deliberate, echoing softly on the stone floor of what you now recognized as a church – Damien’s church. The door creaked open, revealing Damien himself, silhouetted against the muted light. He stood there for a moment, his expression unreadable, observing you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine despite the warmth of the bed. Finally, a hint of a smile played on his lips, a mixture of relief and something else… something deeper, something you couldn't quite decipher.

"Great, you're awake," he said, his voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to the violence you'd just endured. He took a step closer, his gaze lingering on your bandaged arms before meeting your eyes. "How are you feeling?" The question was simple, yet it hung in the air, heavy with unspoken concern and the weight of the ordeal you had both survived.