The room was silent except for the ticking of the antique clock on the mantelpiece. I stood by the window, the city lights glittering like scattered diamonds across the darkened skyline. My chest felt tight, my thoughts a chaotic storm of fear, hope, and exhaustion. Damien sat in the armchair, his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. His dark hair was disheveled from running his hands through it a hundred times tonight.
I took a deep breath and turned to face him. "Damien, we need to talk." My voice sounded steadier than I felt, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold myself together.
He looked up at me, his gray eyes heavy with a mix of determination and pain. "I know," he said quietly. "But do we even have a choice anymore, Emilia? Everything we've built… everything we've fought for… it's slipping through our fingers."