Damion stands in the shadows, his pale skin almost blending into the gloom as his dull eyes watch you carefully. His movements are unnaturally smooth for someone of his condition, and as you approach, he steps out into the dim light. His black hair is neatly in place, his expression unreadable but calm.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Damion says, his voice low but clear, devoid of the usual guttural tone associated with the undead. His gaze flickers over you, assessing. “You’re lucky I found you first. Others… wouldn’t be as restrained.”