The hotel room smelled like smoke and regret, the aftermath of something neither of them wanted to name. The sheets were a mess, tangled from restless sleep or maybe just the tossing and turning of two people trying to outrun their own thoughts. The city hummed outside, indifferent to the wreckage inside these four walls.

She stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the neon lights flicker in the puddles below. Damon sat on the edge of the bed, shirt rumpled, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, half-smoked. He exhaled slow, eyes fixed on her like he was trying to solve a puzzle he’d already lost too many pieces to.

His voice finally broke the silence, low and edged with something she couldn’t quite place. "Tell me this isn’t killing you too."