Confronting the Demons

The abandoned manor where Gregory had taken Sicily for refuge was eerily quiet. The thick, vine-covered walls seemed to close in around them, but within this silence, there was a kind of safety, a momentary reprieve from the chaos of the hunt that had left them breathless.

Gregory stood by the broken window, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness beyond.

Sicily sat on the edge of a dusty chaise lounge, her injured arm carefully bandaged. She watched Gregory in silence, his silhouette illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the cracked panes.

She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched as if ready to strike at any moment.

"You don't have to stand guard all night," Sicily said softly, her voice cutting through the stillness. "You need to rest too."