The plane to Atlanta was half full. He sat by the window, staring at the clouds, his hands clenched in his lap the entire time. Every time the engine shifted pitch or turbulence made the wings jostle, his stomach turned. He didn’t think it was fear; instead, he thought it might be the absence of the flicker of fire he’d come to associate with Viper.
By the time he unlocked the front door to his apartment, the sun was low on the horizon. The place smelled faintly of dust and lemon cleaner; the cleaning lady must have come by while he was away.
He wandered inside like a stranger, each step that had once been so familiar now felt slightly off-kilter. His bookshelves were in order, and the throw blanket was still folded on the couch. His office was just as he’d left it, a half-written draft open on the screen, the blinking cursor waiting. He leaned against the doorframe and stared at his desk for a long time.
He was home. Safe and alive, and it meant absolutely nothing.
The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was loud and suffocating. There were no boots in the hallway. No low, rough voice asking if he was okay. No coffee maker brewing military sludge or quiet snark traded over a battered kitchen table.
Viper isn’t here.
He’s never been here, so I can’t picture him here either.
He sat on the edge of his bed for hours, staring at the blank wall across from him. He tried music. He tried tea. He even tried pulling up a mindless show on TV, and nothing worked.
Eventually, he lay down and stared at the ceiling, trying to will himself to sleep. He lasted fifteen minutes before throwing off the blanket and sitting up again, his breathing ragged with frustration.
“This is bullshit,” he muttered to the empty room.
Because this wasn’t home anymore. It hadn’t been since the moment a black-clad operator had looked at him like he was more than just a stray academic in the wrong place. Since themoment he’d felt knuckles trail gently down his arm, something fierce and protective had settled over his heart.
Trace’s cabin wasn’t exactly a safehouse, but it was something. A tether to the man who had carried him through the fire—literally and otherwise. If he couldn’t be with Viper right now, he needed to be near something that still echoed with him.
Decision made, he stood and began moving on autopilot. Packed a small duffel—clothes, toiletries, and the backup hard drive with all his field notes. His body moved efficiently even while his heart thrummed unevenly in his chest. He laughed at himself as he left a note on the kitchen counter addressed to no one, just in case someone came looking for him or wanted to report him missing. Then he grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him.
The parking lot was quiet. His car was covered in dust, but ever the reliable little Ford, it waited for him in its usual spot. The moment he slid behind the wheel, he felt the tension in his shoulders start to ease just a little. The drive north would take hours, but the night was warm, the roads open, and Ward had nowhere else he’d rather be.
If Trace calls the cops on me for breaking and entering without permission, then I’m going to sic Fionn on him.
Somewhere up in Upper New York State, surrounded by trees and silence and a couch that still probably had Kaze’s blood on it, was a place where he wouldn’t feel quite so alone. He didn’t know what he’d find when he got there, but it had to be better than this.
The road twisted like a scar through the trees, dark and unfamiliar in the headlights. Ward gripped the steering wheeltighter as the incline steepened, pine needles crunching under the tires with a sound he could almost feel in his teeth. The GPS had lost signal two turns ago, and he hoped to god he didn’t miss the turn off. He tapped the brakes and squinted into the dark. “Is that it? I think that’s it.” He pulled the car to a stop and gathered his stuff. After the first couple of steps, he went back for the flashlight in the glove box. If he got lost on the trek through the woods, he’d be in trouble.
It was well past two in the morning when the cabin came into view—dark, quiet, and exactly as they’d left it. Coming here had been an impulsive move—raw and restless and more than a little reckless. But now that he could see the cabin, the weight of it—everything that had happened—pressed down on him.
It smells like Viper here.
Now you’ve lost your damn mind. Viper isn’t some cartoonish cologne trail.
But the memory of him was everywhere. Ward could picture him standing on the porch, arms crossed and his eyes scanning the treeline. He could hear him calling out for the others, issuing orders with that calm, lethal command in his voice. Here, he could feel his presence like a second heartbeat.
The fairy protection barrier buzzed, but didn’t zap him as he crossed it on the final approach to the house.
“Are you welcoming me back or warning me off?” When he didn’t get zapped again, he decided to take it as a welcome. “It’s good to be back.”
He dropped his bag by the door and toed off his shoes, then made a slow circuit around the open space—his fingertips trailed over the back of the couch, the edge of the coffee table, andthe kitchen counter. Ghosts of conversations hung in the air. He could almost hear Zero snarking, Kaze cracking open beers, and Juice arguing logistics with Trace while Reaper muttered darkly over a frying pan. But most of all, he felt closer to him.
Viper’s laugh, low and rare. The press of his fingers on his hip. That impossible, unspoken promise in his eyes every time they looked at each other, like the world was burning and they were the only two things that mattered.
Ward’s throat tightened as he stood in the center of the living room, swaying slightly on his feet, so caught up between relief, grief, and exhaustion so deep it made his bones ache. Then he dropped onto the couch like a puppet with cut strings, placed his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. “God, I miss you,” he whispered to no one.
He sat there for what felt like hours, chasing the sound of rotors in his memory, replaying every glance, every brush of skin, and every word Viper hadn’t had time to say. Eventually, he lay down on the couch, not bothering with a blanket, and stared up at the ceiling beams overhead. “You better come home soon,” he murmured, one hand resting over the faint thrum of his mating mark. “Or I’m coming to find you myself.”
The third morning at Trace’s Den dawned pale and gray, fog clinging low over the trees like a shroud. Ward stood at the edge of the forest, a thermos of lukewarm coffee cradled in both hands, watching the mist swirl through the pines. Trace’s land was quiet—some might call it too quiet. He hadn’t slept much. The couch had grown less comfortable by the hour, and the longing amplified by the mate bond was starting to drive him insane.
They’re safe,he kept telling himself.They’re coming back.
But waiting had never been his strong point. He drained the last of the coffee and headed toward the old trail that led to the dolmen. The path was overgrown in places, but his feet found it with ease. The mossy stones, the tangled roots, the hush of the canopy above—it all pulled at something deep in his chest and when he crested the last rise and saw the ancient structure nestled in the clearing. His breath caught for a heartbeat. Three upright stones and one massive one across the top formed a doorway to nowhere and everywhere. The place where the veil had parted. The Dolmen was dormant now, but it still pulsed faintly in his senses. Like a sleeping lion, it was powerful, sacred, and vulnerable. He couldn’t leave it unguarded.
