The house was silent when Damon pushed open the door.
Silent… but welcoming. A stark contrast to the suffocating chaos of the ball. Here, the air was warm, scented with herbs, garlic browned in butter, and the distant sound of bubbling pots.
He let out a sigh—a short, discreet, almost imperceptible one. A sigh of relief.
He had succeeded.
The letter was safe inside his coat.
And no one suspected a thing.
As he closed the door behind him, he heard light footsteps in the hallway.
"Damon?"
It was Aria.
She appeared in the kitchen archway, her hair haphazardly tied back, her apron stained with sauce, and a wooden spoon in her hand. Her blue eyes widened when she saw him.
For a second she just stood there, staring, before her expression softened into a worried smile.
"You took your time…" she said, approaching quickly. "I… I was worried."
He tilted his head, amused, unable to help it.
"It's good to know someone cares."
Aria grimaced indignantly.
