Adrian had only been gone for three hours when the silence began to feel wrong.
His absence shouldn't have mattered this much; it was just a quick trip, barely long enough to miss him, but the house felt hollow without his presence, as if some unseen pressure that usually held everything in place had loosened.
My chest carried the memory of our last moment: a gentle goodbye, a kiss that lingered a second too long, his eyes searching mine like he realized something was shifting, something unnamed.
I had smiled, pretending everything was fine. Pretending the quiet wasn't thick with tension.
Pretending I wasn't, I was wondering if this new peace between us was fragile or if the darkness trailing us was simply choosing its next move.
Now, alone in the vast glass-walled living room, I felt that wrongness again. A pulse at the edge of perception. A whisper brushing the back of my mind.
