Ruvan Calderic saw the quiet at about 6:42 a.m.
It wasn't very exciting. There was no immediate fear or strong sense that something was wrong. Just a break in the carefully planned morning routine.
The alarm on his phone went off. He quickly turned it off and looked up at the ceiling, his mind racing ahead of his body. The hearing was made up of bits and pieces, like questions, answers, and faces. He wrote down his feelings, figured out how much damage had been done, and figured out which news outlets would frame the story as strong leadership instead of a scandal.
Containment had worked.
By the time he got dressed, things had changed and a new story had begun. A false belief was corrected. A business is safe. Someone who worked there is no longer there.
Works well.
He reached for his watch while looking at his phone. There are no calls that counsel missed. The board has no urgent messages.
Ilyra hasn't sent any messages.
That absence registered weakly, like a missing beat. She usually sent a text confirming the day's plans before dawn. It wasn't personal; it was just a list of what she had to do. She had never not done this.
He turned down the idea as a matter of course.
There was a lot of controlled activity on the office's executive floor. The assistants moved quickly and spoke softly. As he walked by, security nodded.
"Good morning, sir."
"Good morning."
Everything went well.
When he got there, Elowen was already in the conference room, sitting at the big table with a tablet in front of her and her posture calm and well-placed. She smiled and looked up.
"You did a good job with it yesterday," she said. "The board is happy."
He nodded once. "The story will settle down by the end of the week."
She reached across the table and stroked his wrist gently. "I knew you would choose wisely."
The touch felt normal.
Not unwanted. Not welcome.
Okay.
They started the meeting right away. Predictions. Assessing risk. Updates on the law. Elowen spoke with confidence, and no one questioned her presence. The board paid attention. They always listened to people who seemed like they couldn't be stopped.
Ruvan, who had a natural tendency to look at the far end of the table, felt a small jolt of anger halfway through.
The seat that Ilyra used to sit in was empty.
It was, of course.
She doesn't work here anymore.
The irritation, however, got worse.
"Where is the new timeline?" he asked.
A helper blinked. "Ms. Sir, Noem had already made it. "We're changing who is in charge of what."
He nodded with annoyance. "Put it on my desk by noon."
The assistant thought about it. "Yes, sir."
The doubt didn't go away after the conference was over.
Elowen saw it too.
"She was efficient," Elowen said casually as they walked into his office. "But it can be replaced."
Can be replaced.
The word didn't land right.
"She got paid," Ruvan said. "There's no reason to dwell."
Elowen smiled. "Of course."
The mood in his office stayed the same. Neat. In order. Under control. He took off his jacket, opened his laptop, and looked through his inbox.
Ilyra hasn't sent anything.
He frowned a little and said no.
She probably moved already. The settlement was meant to make this simple. Part of the deal was that they would disappear.
Still.
By midmorning, the itching had come back—not louder, but still there. Little problems added up. The files are named wrong. The schedules are off. The meeting was five minutes late because they didn't expect something to happen.
Ilyra always paid attention to the small things.
He called her at 11:17 a.m.
It rang two times.
After that, I went to voicemail.
He hung up quickly, and his jaw got stiff.
At noon, he asked security to check on the turnover of her apartment. It was normal to make sure that privacy rules were followed.
An hour later, the report came.
"Sir, the unit is empty."
"How empty?"
"Cleared out." There is no address on file for forwarding. Utilities have been stopped.
He looked at the message for longer than he needed to.
Nothing.
That was quicker than I thought it would be.
At three o'clock, the lawyer showed up with papers that needed to be signed. Everything was fine. The divorce went through. The settlement is in an escrow account. The secrecy clause was put into effect.
Counsel Harrow said firmly, "She won't be a problem." "She signed without any problems."
Ruvan signed the last page and gave the folder back.
"Okay."
Counsel stopped. "There's one thing."
Ruvan raised his head. "What?"
"Last night, the system found a medical bill. The medical bill was paid in cash. A private doctor's office.
This time, the break was all his.
"Health?"
"Routine," the counselor quickly said. "There was no claim filed. Most likely because of stress. Considering the situation—
Ruvan shut the folder.
"That's not important."
"Of course," the lawyer said. "Just making sure everything is in order."
Ruvan stayed by the window that looked out over the city after he left.
Ends that aren't tied up.
The phrase made him angry.
By night, the annoyance had turned into something else: a sense of unease that he couldn't put his finger on. Everything had gone as planned. The company stayed stable. His name is still good. Elowen's presence had already started to ease worries.
But still.
He looked at his phone again.
Nothing yet.
A train left the station without any warning and silently moved across the city. Ilyra was in the back seat, near the window. Her coat was pulled tight, and her hand was resting on her stomach without her meaning to.
She saw the city fade away without any fuss.
No one cried. There was no looking back.
It's just a matter of distance.
She had turned off her phone. Her name was already fading away where it mattered the most.
Ruvan went back to his office, reached for a piece of paper on his desk, and stopped.
There was a sealed packet under it.
White. No marks.
He frowned before picking it up.
It wasn't there before.
He flipped it over once, then twice.
There's no one who sent it.
He immediately recognized only his name, which was written in cursive.
Ilyra.
His chest tightened, but not because he was scared. It was because he was happy for the first time in years.
Not sure.
He carefully put the envelope down.
He didn't open it.
Not yet.
By the time he did, the truth would be too far away for him to reach.