Is the absence of her.
The missing piece.
The wrongness clawing at my insides.
People scatter when they see me.
I barely register them.
They’re Pride.
They know better.
They smell what I am right now.
Unstable.
Unclaimed.
On the edge.
Voices call out.
Distant.
Irrelevant.
Until one rises above the rest.
“Rob Cray, stop!”
That one cuts through.
Deep.
Authoritative.
Commanding.
The Neta.
I skid to a halt at the edge of town, claws carving into the ground as I fight the momentum, chest heaving, breath coming in harsh bursts.
My vision flickers red at the edges.
Hunter Maverick stands in front of me, solid and unmoving, his presence like a wall.
Behind him—Elissa.
Calm.
Watchful.
The Nari.
And behind them?—
The Honor Guard.
