Daimon gave a low, derisive whistle, his brows drawn together as Wanda hit him with contempt. He wouldn't admit that it stung, that if he looked at himself now, he might say she had a point. But this wasn't Wanda; without a soul, she'd become the worst version of herself, and that he understood perfectly. Sighing heavily, Daimon's jaw set and his eyes bore into her empty gaze. Living without the source of your entire being wasn't a life he'd want for anyone. Not for her. Daimon could acknowledge that she was trying, but he couldn't stand back and watch her destroy herself. Her life, even without its essence, still mattered. Lifting his chin, the demon crossed his arms over his chest and said, "You've done enough. Stop, before you do something you can't come back from."