Cherry held his gaze for a few seconds, absorbing every detail—the dried blood clinging to her hair, the fresh blood still trickling down her jawline, her heavy, stained clothing, the metallic smell that filled the air uninvited. There was no shock on her face, no revulsion. Only calculation.
"I'm going to investigate who did this to you," she said finally, directly, without beating around the bush, as if already organizing names and consequences in her head. "And I apologize for this happening here."
The silence that followed wasn't one of acceptance.
It was one of bewilderment.
Damon tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed on her with a clear trace of distrust, as if trying to understand if this was some kind of game or just… incoherence.
"…since when do you talk to me like that?" he questioned, his voice low, but laden with evident skepticism.
Cherry shrugged.
A simple gesture.
Without apparent weight.
