Damon's head snapped up, all irritation vaporizing into a sharp wave of unease. Shapes emerged from the treeline, shifting from shadow into people.
There were four of them. Younger than him by a few years, yet each carried themselves with a confidence that didn't belong in this decaying place.
The first to step forward was a broad-shouldered young man, steady and calm, his eyes quick and calculating. A simple grey sweatshirt clung to him like armor, his face open but watchful. He didn't need to say a word; Damon could tell he was the leader.
At his side came a girl with blue hair pulled tight in a ponytail, her posture rigid, arms crossed like a shield. She wasn't hostile, but her narrowed eyes measured Damon like a threat waiting to happen.
A third girl lingered a little behind them, posture soft, her gaze gentle. Wide, curious eyes swept over the wreckage of the door, the dust, and Damon's bruised face. Pity colored her concern.
The last was tall, wiry, and grinning. "Well," he drawled, nudging the broken door with his foot, "looks like somebody had a fun time. Do we clap, or just pretend this place wasn't already falling apart?"
"Luke," the leader snapped, shutting him down with a single word.
Luke only grinned wider.
The leader turned to Arthur, his posture shifting to respectful. "Master Arthur. We didn't expect you until nightfall. We were drilling in the north field." His eyes flicked again to Damon, curiosity sparking.
Arthur's tone was flat, as if naming furniture. "This is Cedric." He gestured to the broad-shouldered boy. "Imogen." The girl with the ponytail crossed her arms tighter. "Luna." The gentle girl offered a fleeting smile. "And Luke." The lanky boy gave a mocking little wave.
Arthur's gaze shifted to Damon. "This is Damon. He will be joining us."
The air went thick. Four pairs of eyes pinned him where he stood, assessing, weighing. Damon felt them peel him apart: his ordinary clothes, the bruise still shadowing his temple, the duffel bag that screamed runaway, not recruit.
Cedric gave a short nod. Imogen's lips pressed thin, her blue hair catching the dying light like a banner of rebellion. Luna's smile softened, but pity made it ache. Luke gave a low whistle.
"Joining us?" Imogen's voice was flint on stone. "Here? Does he even know what here is?"
Arthur didn't blink. "He will learn. The same as you did."
Her jaw clenched. "Why is a human—"
Arthur's eyes sliced to her. The look alone made her words snap shut.
The silence dragged too long before Arthur stepped inside, Lily gliding soundlessly after him. At the threshold he paused, glancing back at Damon.
"Welcome to your new life." For the first time, Damon thought he saw warmth in his eyes.
"Cedric," Arthur added, "find him a room. One without a hornet's nest."
The inside was worse than the outside. Dust choked the air, wallpaper peeled like shed skin, and the scent of damp earth lingered in the walls. Cedric led the way with steady steps. Damon trailed after him, the others shadowing close, their silence louder than words.
They stopped at a narrow door. Cedric pushed it open, hinges groaning. "This one's… functional."
The room was small: a sagging bedframe, a mattress thinner than paper, a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.
"Bathroom's down the hall," Cedric said simply.
"Charming," Damon muttered, tossing his bag inside.
Dinner was no warmer. They sat around a scarred wooden table while Lily ladled thin stew into bowls. The scrape of spoons was the only sound.
Cedric ate like a soldier — steady, efficient. Imogen glared at her bowl as though daring it to bite her first. Luna's gaze kept flicking toward Damon, soft but unsure. Luke leaned back, smirk never fading, watching like this was the best entertainment he'd had all week.
Arthur and Lily were absent. Their silence hung heavier than their presence would have.
Imogen finally broke. "So we're just pretending this is normal? A stranger sits at our table and—"
"Enough," Cedric said quietly, not looking up. His voice wasn't loud, but it ended the argument.
Imogen shut her mouth with a sharp click of teeth.
After the meal, they drifted away without goodnights. Imogen vanished upstairs. Luna gave Damon a small, apologetic smile before slipping into the dark hall. Luke gave him a two-finger salute before disappearing with a laugh. Cedric was last to leave, his steady presence lingering like a weight.
Damon was left in the silence.
The west room was cold. He didn't bother undressing, just collapsed on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling. The day spun through his mind — the alley, the creature, the strangers, the house, the wary faces.
Too much. His body shut down before his mind could catch up.
The last thing he felt before sleep wasn't peace, or safety.
It was the unmistakable pressure of secrets pressing down on the walls around him.
Secrets everyone else seemed to know.
Everyone except him.