Damien steps closer, his voice steady and resolute. “You are not cursed,” he says, his eyes locked onto hers with unwavering certainty. “But I do think your lineage is why you smell different.”
Just as the words leave his lips, a knock echoes through the room. His body tenses for a split second before he exhales, forcing himself to relax. “Stay put,” he mutters, striding toward the door. He pulls it open, his expression calm now as he meets the eyes of the visitor.
“Yes, Miranda. What is it?” Damien asks.
She’s a striking woman, tall and lean, with dark auburn hair pulled into a loose braid that falls over her shoulder.
“Elder Ralph wishes to speak with you. In private.” In an even tone, Miranda dips her head slightly.
Damien scoffs lightly, not surprised. “Of course he does.”
Mirand
