Damon slowly brought his hand to his forehead, his fingers pressing against his temples as if that were enough to organize the chaos forming inside him.
"Of course…" he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost an incredulous laugh escaping at the end. "That was why."
Elizabeth stirred slightly against his chest, but didn't wake. She just snuggled closer, as if that were the most obvious place in the world to be. Her weight didn't bother him—on the contrary. It anchored him.
Damon closed his eyes for a moment.
"It was a ritual," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "It wasn't just blood."
The pieces began to fall into place with cruel clarity.
Her hesitation.
The excessive control.
The way she had said no, I can't, and no, I don't want to.
She knew.
The system didn't appear on a whim. It didn't reward impulses. It had been recognized as something structural, ancient, greater than the two of them.
