Ever since Horace left, the villa had felt unbearably silent—so silent it almost pressed against Ariel's ears. The halls echoed too loudly, the rooms felt bigger than they truly were, and time seemed determined to crawl instead of move. It had only been two days, but to Ariel, it felt like two months.
She missed him.
Not in a casual, passing way. She missed him with her lungs, with her heartbeat, with every inch of her soul that had become tied to his. She reached for her phone earlier, forgetting that Horace had left without it. She tried the mind-link, hoping—praying—to catch even a whisper of him, a flicker of his voice.
Nothing.
Her mate bond rang with silence.
She went to Xavier, hoping he would know something. Anything.
His eyes never left his laptop. "Horace will be fine," he said for what felt like the hundredth time. "He'll return soon."
That was it. No further explanation. No comfort. No reassurance. Xavier communicated with the same energy as a concrete wall.
