Her fingers moved first.
Slid across the sheet in a lazy stretch, reaching for the warmth she remembered — his chest, his arms, the weight of him still buried in her from the night before.
But they touched nothing.
Only cold linen.
No rise and fall of breath beside her.
No heat.
No heartbeat.
Ytrisia's brows twitched. Her hand searched again, slower this time, creeping across the mattress like maybe she'd just missed him by an inch.
Still… nothing.
Her eyes blinked open.
Light spilled into the room in soft shafts through the curtains, the golden kind that should feel warm, safe, tender — but her chest tightened the moment she took in the empty space beside her.
Cruxius… was gone.
The sheets on his side were already cooling. No dent. No rumple. No trace of arms that had held her through her trembling, breaking gasps. It was as if he'd never been there.
No.
No. No.
Her throat dried, and she sat up too fast — the soreness between her legs flaring sharp, making her gasp.
