Damon – Devil’s Night

I used to wonder what silence would sound like.

Real silence — not the kind padded with background noise or the soft hum of a city that never fucking sleeps — but the kind that settles into your bones, stretches across years, and builds a home behind your ribs. Prison taught me that kind of silence.

Now, I hear it in her voice.

Four years. And she still walks like nothing happened.

I watch from the second floor of the Crist estate, the party below throbbing with bass and smoke. Devil’s Night is in full swing — masks, fire, liquor, bodies pressed against each other like animals. It’s our tradition. Our fucking religion. And yet I can’t feel any of it.

Because she’s here.

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She’s leaning against the railing near the staircase, eyes scanning the crowd like she’s too good to be here — like she doesn’t realize this night was carved out of our blood and sweat and fury. Her hair’s longer now. Same sleek darkness. Same pale skin that used to flush whenever I got too close. She’s wearing black — silk, maybe. Low-cut, short, the kind of thing that dares you to touch.

And I will. Eventually.

I step back, melting into shadow, my drink untouched in my hand. Michael’s downstairs somewhere with Rika, and Kai and Will are already slipping back into old habits. But I’m not here for games.

Not this time.

Ayla lifts a glass to her lips. Champagne. Of course.

I remember the last time I saw her.

No mask. No heels. No perfume.

Just wide eyes as the cuffs went around my wrists. She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She just stood there behind Rika, like a fucking statue. Like she wasn’t the reason the world turned upside down. Like she didn’t matter.

But she did.

She always did.

“Damon.” Michael’s voice behind me, low, warning.

I don’t turn.

“She’s here,” I say.

“I know.”

“Did she know we’d come back?”

“She’s not stupid.”

No. She never was.

But she played a good game. Best friend to the golden girl. Quiet shadow in the corner. She knew what we were. What I was. And she still looked at me like she wanted something she couldn’t admit.

Now she’ll pay for that silence.

I finish my drink in one swallow, set the glass down, and descend the stairs like a predator walking into a room of lambs.

The moment her eyes catch mine, it’s like she’s been doused in ice water.

Good.

Let her remember. Let her feel it.

Four years ago, I was ripped out of my life like trash.

Tonight, I’ll show her what it’s like when the devil comes home