41.

Alina had never minded the quiet before.

Silence had been a constant companion in her life—comfortable, predictable. It was the space where she read, where she wrote, where she let herself breathe.

But now, silence was suffocating.

She stepped outside, the chill biting through her coat as she wrapped it tighter around herself. The streets were lined with golden leaves, the remnants of autumn clinging to the last breath of warmth before winter fully settled in. The air smelled of frost and damp pavement, sharp and clean.

Her boots crunched against the sidewalk as she walked, aimless but restless.

The building was too empty. She hadn’t really noticed it at first. Jace had been around, his presence filling the space with warmth, even when he was being overbearing. But the past few days, he had been absent—working late, caught up in his own world, unable to check in as much.

She didn’t blame him.

But it left her with nothing.

The usual noises of the apartment complex—the distant hum of a television, the muffled conversations of neighbors, the occasional clatter of someone cooking—were gone. Even Mrs. Lawrence, the sweet old woman who always left her window open while making stew, had left for the season.

Everyone had gone home.

Because that’s what people did when winter came.

They packed their bags, went to their families, curled up by the fireplace, and belonged.

Alina swallowed hard.

She had no one to go home to.

She kept walking. The cold seeped through her gloves, numbing her fingers, but she barely felt it. Her thoughts were too loud.

She had tried. God, she had tried.

She submitted her resume. She wrote a cover letter. She told herself that maybe—maybe—this time would be different. That maybe she’d get the job as a translator, that maybe she’d finally have something to occupy herself with.

But the waiting was unbearable.

Every time her phone buzzed, she jolted, heart in her throat, only to find it was nothing. No response. No news.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to push those thoughts away.

Focus on the present.

Focus on the cold air, the empty streets, the soft glow of streetlights flickering to life as the sun dipped lower.

But everything—everything—reminded her of him.

Of Caelan.

Of the way his voice curled around her thoughts like an unshakable whisper.

Of the way she had woken up in her own bed with no memory of how she got there.

Of the way he had made her forget.

But he failed.

She remembered.

She had spent the past few days telling herself she didn’t care. That she was fine. That she didn’t need answers.

But the truth was—it haunted her.

Where was he?

Why did he leave?

What had he done to her?

Jace had tried. He searched for Caelan, made calls, dug through every lead he could find—but it was like he had vanished into thin air. Gone.

And with each passing day, Alina felt herself closing off.

She still went to class. She still did her assignments. She still made food, still got dressed, still functioned.

But it was like going through the motions.

Like something inside her had been dislodged, and she couldn’t figure out how to fix it.

She reached the small park at the end of the street and sat down on a cold bench, staring at the empty playground. The swings creaked softly in the wind, a lonely, hollow sound.

She curled her fingers into her coat sleeves, exhaling a shaky breath.

She should move on.

She should stop thinking about him.

But no matter how hard she tried to escape it, to bury it—

The ghost of Caelan lingered.