The music at the Cove was loud enough to rattle the walls, but Damon noticed her the second she walked in.

Michael’s little sister. She didn’t belong here. Everyone knew it. That was the problem.

She stood near the kitchen counter, fingers curled around a cup she probably wasn’t drinking from, watching everything with quiet focus. Not nervous. Not wide-eyed. Observing.

Damon leaned against the wall for a moment, studying her. The way her gaze flicked across the room. The way she held herself — too composed for someone who was supposed to be the “good” one.

He pushed off the wall and crossed the room casually, like it meant nothing.

He stopped in front of her. Close. Close enough that she’d have to decide whether to step back. “Lost?” he asked, voice low, smooth.

Her chin lifted just slightly. There it was. Not innocence. Not fear. Defiance.

His eyes darkened with quiet amusement. He leaned one hand on the counter beside her hip, boxing her in without touching her.

“This isn’t your scene,” he murmured. “You’re a little out of your depth.”

But she didn’t look away. Damon’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.