The sunlight was barely crawling across the edges of the curtains when Camilla stirred. The room was quiet, unnervingly so. Her fingers brushed the warm spot beside her—a space Cyrus had occupied only hours ago. Now, it was empty. The sheets still held the faintest trace of his scent—clean soap, musk, and something uniquely him. But he was gone.

Camilla sat up slowly, wincing from the dull ache in her back. Her thoughts swirled around the nightmare from the night before—the way Cyrus had kicked her, unknowingly, lost in a dream of a past she had no access to. But it wasn’t the pain that lingered.

It was the sound...