Wanda met his gaze and saw the shift in Daimon's expression, felt an echo of the anger from his memories. But there was something else there, something darker. She glanced away instinctively with a thrill of realization; just because he was vulnerable when she found him, didn't mean that Daimon wasn't dangerous. This understanding tempered the last of her reckless adrenaline, but it didn't make her fear him. It was hard to find a mythical horror made flesh any more terrifying than humanity's own monsters.
The demons she'd known couldn't be found in any folktale or threatened from a holy pulpit. Fellow human beings committing such atrocities that she hoped hell did exist, just for the comfort of knowing that one day they'd get what they deserved. People who made promises of peace and prosperity, and then murdered children. The men who thought they could decide that another human life was worth less than land or wealth. Humanity was often so monstrous and cruel that it couldn't even be trusted not to turn on its own kind. At least with fairy-tale ghouls and diabolic beasts you knew where you stood.
Subdued by her thoughts, Wanda took a few gulps of water before answering Daimon's question. "Sokovia," she told him, not even sure that he'd know of it. It was the sort of war torn little country that seemed so far removed from the problems of the western world, that it only merited a blurb now and then in America's news. "We- my brother and me- were trapped here when the barrier came down, and we can't go home."