I roll toward Knight.
My hand meets cold air.
I blink.
I sit up.
The other side of the couch is empty.
The blanket has been folded. The pillow is aligned. The duffel is lighter—missing weight, missing presence, missing the man who was supposed to be mytogether.
Then I see the note.
Short.
Minimal.
Knight in five words.
Not running from you.
Running for you.
I’ll be back.
—K
I stare at it until my vision blurs. And then I do what any reasonable woman does when her boyfriend commits a noble idiot maneuver without consulting her?—
I go incandescent.
“Are you fuckingkidding me?” I whisper-shout into the quiet condo.
The words bounce off the walls and die. I stand so fast my knees wobble. I pace. I yank open the duffel like maybe he’s hidden in there with a sheepish smile and a “surprise, Birdie.”
He isn’t.
The burner’s gone.
His jacket’s gone.
The knife’s gone.
And my trust? Currently sprinting after him down the nearest fire escape.
I snag my phone and call Arrow before I can talk myself into tearing this entire condo apart with my bare hands.
He picks up on the first ring. “Lark.”
“He’s gone.”
No greeting.
No pleasantries.
Just the truth like a thrown knife.
Arrow exhales like he was bracing for this. “Yeah.”
