Leroy turned toward her bed. The sheets were untouched. The pillow, smooth.
She hadn't even slept here.
And that meant…
His faint smile faltered. The vyrnshade flower slipped slightly between his fingers, its stem bending under his tightening grip.
He drew in a slow breath, steadying his pulse. Lorraine was always unpredictable, slipping out at odd hours, as silent as smoke. But lately, she had told him everything. Every plan, every whisper of danger, every suspicion she harbored. He had asked her, pleaded with her, to stay put.
And still, she had gone.
This… this felt different.
The air in her room was still, heavy with the scent of vyrnshade and paper. He sat on the edge of her desk, scanning the neatly arranged parchments and sealed missives. Her quills were aligned in perfect symmetry, her inkpot sealed, but the thick sheaf of plans, the ones she'd been working on for days, was missing.
She took them with her.
