After the Luna finally broke down, exhaustion claimed her almost immediately.
Her trembling gradually stilled, her quiet sobs fading into uneven breaths as sleep overtook her fragile body. In Damon's arms, she looked smaller—far from the strong and graceful Luna she once was. What remained was a grieving mate, a woman who had lost half of her soul and never truly found her way back.
Damon did not move right away.
He stayed there, holding her carefully, as if even the slightest shift might wake her—or worse, shatter whatever peace she had finally found. His gaze lingered on her face, studying every detail as though trying to memorize it, as though afraid that if he looked away, she might disappear too.
When he was certain she had fallen into a deep sleep, he finally moved.
