Because I know exactly what it is.
Senna.
Her name echoes through my head for the thousandth time today, and that thread in my chest pulls taut. Yanks hard enough that I have to press my palm against my ribs just to ground myself.
Where the hell did she go?
I've been out in the city every day since the Masquerade. Walking the market squares, checking the festival grounds, haunting the places we went together that night. Looking for a woman with storm-gray eyes and black curls and a smile that made something in me crack wide open.
Nothing.
It's like she vanished into thin air.
Like she was never there at all.
Except I can still feel her. Still feel the phantom press of her body against mine, the way she trembled when she came apart in my arms, the taste of her on my tongue. Still feel thatclickthat happened when I was buried inside her—that snap of connection that locked something fundamental in my chest to hers.
The bond.
I know that's what it was. Know it with a certainty that goes bone-deep.
The Nashai were right. Serai was right. Senna is my mate. My gods-damnedsoulmate, and she ran from me before I could even get her last name.
Before I could tell her I was wrong and that damn Masquerade found me the other half of my soul. Before I could beg her never to leave me.
I shove away from the desk and stand, pacing to the window. The city sprawls below, all spires and cobblestone and afternoon light that does nothing to ease the restlessness clawing through my veins.
I should be working. Should be finishing inventory for the three bakeries I own, reviewing supply orders, managing staffschedules. Should be doing literally anything productive instead of staring out the window like some lovesick fool.
But I can't focus.
Can't think about anything except finding her.
A knock sounds at the door downstairs, sharp and insistent, and I ignore it. Probably another merchant trying to negotiate lower prices on flour shipments. I'm not in the mood.
The knock comes again, louder this time, followed by a familiar voice shouting through the wood.
"Lorenth! I know you're home, you brooding ass! Open the door before Kaelen decides to practice his fire magic on your doorstep!"
Lora.
Of course.
I make my way downstairs, each step feeling heavier than it should, and yank open the door. My sister stands there with her arms crossed, one dark brow arched in that way that says she's already judging me. Her wings are tucked tight against her back, the light blue feathers catching the afternoon sun, and her gold-ringed eyes narrow as she takes me in.
"You look like shit."
"Good to see you too."
She sweeps past me without waiting for an invitation, her crimson silks swishing around her legs, and I catch sight of my niece and nephew behind her. Kova—six years old with her mother's coloring and her father's mischievous grin—waves at me. Kaelen, eight and already too serious for his own good, nods in greeting.
"Uncle Lorenth!" Kova launches herself at me, and I catch her easily, swinging her up despite the way my chest protests the movement.
"Hey, troublemaker." I ruffle her silver-black hair, and she giggles. "What brings you lot here?"
"Mother said you've been hiding." Kaelen's voice is matter-of-fact as he steps inside. "She wanted to check if you were still alive."
Lora shoots him a look. "What Isaidwas that your uncle hasn't visited in two weeks and I was concerned."
