He had never wanted to lose her.
But life had other plans.
Daemon took a deep breath, the familiar ache settling into his chest as he slowly opened his eyes. The picture book remained in his hands, the edges now creased from how tightly he'd been holding it. He glanced down at her face again, feeling the guilt rise like bile in his throat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I should've been there. I should've saved you."
The grief wasn't new—it had never really left. But here, in this place, it felt raw again, like the wound had been torn open, and all the pain and regret came rushing out. It had been his fault. He should have been there for her, should have done more. But he hadn't. And now, she was gone, and all that was left was this tiny book and the weight of his failure.
