His jaw tightens.
I don’t speak. I don’t need to. I shift closer to him — carefully, mindful of his shoulder, mindful of the ribs — and I press my forehead against the side of his jaw.
I feel the tension in him release by degrees, the slow unbuckling of armor that he maintains even in sleep.
“You found me,” I whisper against his skin. “You came for me, that’s what matters.”
His arm tightens around me. I melt into him. We stay like that until our breathing starts to match. Perfectly in sync.
Maren.
Even with everything else going on, I haven’t forgotten about my friend. Her name arrives each morning with the reliability of the cold.
I haven’t heard from her since before everything collapsed. Though I can’t be sure when that was. I still don’t know when Landon got her phone.
“Dmitri’s also missing,” Rolan tells me one evening, standing at the bedroom window with his recovering shoulder silhouetted against the light.
“I had him watching Maren. He was supposed to look out for her safety. I should have…” He drifts off. “The assignment carried complexities I did not adequately convey to him. His history and his personal circumstances made it more volatile than a standard protection detail. I should’ve made different decisions.”
I cross the room and take his hand. “We need to find them.”
“I will.”
I believe him.
But the dread in my gut won’t go away. Something went seriously wrong between those two, and the fact that we don’t know what yet means my happiness can’t settle. Not until I find my friend. Not until I know she’s safe.
And she will be safe. I demand it.
April arrives wrapped in blue skies. The spring sun illuminates the estate in a beautiful brightness.
But even on clear days, there’s a cloud.
Rolan says his people are getting close. He keeps me updated in fragments — a location narrowed, a sighting confirmed, a timeline beginning to crystallize.
The wordsDmitriandMarenappear in the same sentence more frequently now, paired together in a way that suggests their disappearance was not coincidental, but entangled.
How is anyone’s guess. Until…
It’s a Saturday when everything shifts.
Rolan, Anya, and I are on one of our weekly outings. Today it’s the botanical conservatory, requested by Anya following a biology lesson about plants.
Anya ranges ahead of us through the orchid pavilion with intent. She carries a small notebook that she’s been using to record species names, sketch petal structures, and take notes.
Rolan walks beside me.
We move slowly. He still favors his shoulder when he thinks no one is watching. The conservatory air envelops us in the warm, lush fragrance of the blooming flowers.
“She’s going to demand one of everything,” I predict, watching Anya take a picture of an orchid with the gravitas of a documentary filmmaker.
“I’m aware,” Rolan says with a chuckle. “I’ve already consulted with the groundskeeper regarding the east greenhouse.”
I turn to face him. “You’re building her a greenhouse?”
“Expanding an existing structure, technically.”
“Rolan.”
