Morgana kept her gaze fixed on Damon, but for the first time in a long time… she didn't know what to say.
She, who always had sharp comebacks.
She, who faced instructors, knights, nobles, and even her own father without blinking.
She, who would never admit weakness.
Now she was there, before Damon, completely exposed—and he knew it.
The cold wind entered through the window, making the curtains ripple behind him as if they were part of a carefully orchestrated scene. Damon stood on the windowsill, one foot out, the other propped up, his body leaning as if about to disappear into thin air.
"So…?" he pressed with a soft, almost patient smile.
"Do you want me to stay? Or do you want me to go and break your fiancé's face?"
She took a deep breath.
Once.
Twice.
It was rare for her to hesitate—but when it happened, it meant something had truly broken inside.
"I…" The words caught in her throat.
Damon raised only one eyebrow, teasingly:
