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Shadows of the Past
“Drive,” Damian ordered, his voice as cold as the winter night. “Yes, sir,” Henry replied, turning the ignition and setting the car in motion. The drive back felt infinitely shorter than the agonizing ride to the warehouse. Seeing Elara in his arms was both a comfort and a curse—she was here, alive, but the marks of what she had endured under Charles’ watch seared into his mind. He had her back, but not whole. Elara’s breathing was steady but shallow. Damian had wrapped his suit jacket around her, feeling her tremble beneath it. Every glance in her direction stoked the fire in his chest, fueling a rage that simmered just beneath the surface. He didn’t know if it was the cold, the fear, or the shock that made her shake, but it only made his resolve stronger. “You’re safe now,” he murmur
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