The hotel room was tense, with an air that pressed against Eleanor's chest.
She paced near the window, arms wrapped tightly around herself, while Damon sat relaxed on the couch, one leg lazily crossed over the other, watching her with an amused smirk.
The dim lighting did nothing to soften the sharpness in his eyes.
"You're insane," Eleanor finally snapped, spinning around to face him. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it trembled with fear.
"You killed someone today, Damon. Right in front of me!"
Damon tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating her words. Then he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
"Correction... I didn't kill anyone. I simply cleaned up a problem. There's a difference."
But Eleanor's stomach churned. She took a step back.
"You—" she swallowed hard, her throat dry. "You ordered it, you might as well have pulled the trigger yourself."
