Casian staggered back from Xavier, chest heaving—not from exertion, but from a sudden, gut-wrenching realization.
His gaze swept the hall, wild and searching.
"Where is she?" he growled, voice laced with panic.
Silence answered him. Thick. Deafening.
A beat later, his stomach dropped.
She hadn't been beside him when Norman had dropped the blade.
Not when the first punch had been thrown.
Not since the chaos had erupted.
He hadn't seen her since.
Casian's pulse thundered in his ears like war drums. A sinking dread took hold, rooting deep in his bones.
His head snapped toward Rowan, who looked equally shaken—his face pale, jaw clenched, eyes frantically combing the hall.
"I thought she was with you," Rowan said, breathless, guilt already shadowing his features.
Casian's lips peeled back in a snarl, panic bleeding into every edge of his fury. "No. She was here. Right here."
He took a sharp step forward, nostrils flaring.
Her scent lingered.
But faintly.
Fading.
