The Missing Piece

*Nicoli*

"No. No, no, no—it was right here." Nicoli's voice cracked like thin ice as he tore the blanket off the bed, the fabric snapping through the air with desperate violence. The musty scent of old wool filled his nostrils as he tossed it aside, praying it might reveal the small marble bear hidden beneath like some cruel magic trick. But the sheets lay flat and empty, mocking him with their pristine smoothness.

His fingers clawed at the pillow, flipping it with trembling hands. Nothing. Behind the leather-bound books on the nightstand, his fingertips scraped against rough wood and collected dust. Between the floorboards, he'd already checked three times—his knuckles scraped raw against the stone as he pried at gaps that couldn't possibly hide anything larger than a coin.

His chest constricted, ribs squeezing inward like a closing fist around his lungs. The air felt thin, insufficient. "I don't understand. I put it right here." The words tumbled out in a breathless mantra, each repetition more desperate than the last. His throat burned with the effort of keeping his voice steady. I put it right here. Right here. Right here.

But the bear remained absent, and his desperate incantations fell flat against the morning silence.

Stone figurines don't just get up and walk off by themselves, do they? Of course not. Nicoli was not a child to believe in that. 

But logic felt fragile when everything else was crumbling.

It was gone.

 I should have just taken it with me. The regret sat in his stomach like a stone, cold and heavy. Normally, he would have, but his pockets had been too small—Ana's little bear wouldn't fit alongside his handkerchief and the spare coins. Such a stupid, practical reason. 

If I had known it would take that long to say goodbye, Nicoli clenched his teeth with slight frustration, remembering. Hidi had just left. It had been barely an hour. The warmth of her goodbye kiss still ghosted across his cheek like phantom fingers.

Earlier…

The clatter of iron-shod hooves had echoed off the castle stones with metallic percussion, sharp and impatient against the soft whisper of spring morning. The horses pawed at the cobblestones, their massive bodies steaming in the cool air, breath forming clouds that dissipated like fleeting thoughts. Leather creaked as they shifted, harnesses jingling with small silver bells that caught the early light.

The scent of damp earth and blooming lilacs hung thick in the air, sweetened by morning dew and warmed by the climbing sun that painted everything in shades of gold and amber.

Nicoli stood rigid at the top of the dais, his shoulders drawn up to his ears like a shield. The brightness made him squint, sent needles of light through his skull. His coat was wrinkled at the sleeves—evidence of anxious fidgeting through a sleepless night. The fabric pulled awkwardly across his shoulders, suddenly too small, too confining. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his hair stuck up in rebellious tufts where he'd run his fingers through it too many times.

His mind felt scraped raw, worn thin by his father's recent departure and the weight of unanswered questions that pressed against his temples like a growing headache.

But now Hidi was leaving too?

Something sharp and unexpected twisted in his chest—not quite loss, not quite loneliness, but a hollow ache that surprised him with its intensity. He was going to miss her presence, the way she filled silence with laughter, how she made everything feel less heavy. But even that had to end. He was going to be alone. Well, not completely. He had his mother…

Nicoli didn't mean to, but he exhaled a bit too loudly, making the giant tut.

"I can't stay and play with you forever, Nicoli," Hidi said, her tone carrying an unexpected weight that made him look at her properly for the first time that morning.

She looked different—transformed. Less like the girl who used to tease him at chess, biting the heads of cookies for the fun of it, her peridot eyes glittering with mischief and weird jokes, and more like the queen she actually was. Her blonde hair was pulled back in an elaborate braid that emphasized the sharp angles of her face. Her riding dress was trimmed in gold thread that caught the light with every breath, every small movement. Her usual smirk-the one that promised mischief and stolen pastries—had been replaced by something gentler, more vulnerable.

"Though it has been fun," she added, and there was that familiar tilt of her head, the ghost of her real self peeking through the royal facade. Then her broad grin flashed bright and wicked as she reached out to flick his collar with fingers that smelled like lemon and rosewater. "But you better grow another foot while I'm gone. I'm not fond of short men."

Heat flooded his cheeks, indignation sparking in his chest. Nicoli had to scuff and roll his eyes at the teasing. "Short? You're the freakishly tall one—"

But she was already leaning in, close enough that he could see the soft freckles under her green eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. Her large fingers were surprisingly gentle as they flicked his forehead, but the touch sent a comforting ease down his spine. Her touches were almost expected, little exchanges now. Familiar now by all their time together.

"You are," she teased, her voice soft, irritatingly confident but fond. "But don't worry, I'll miss you, too."

He scowled and rubbed the spot where she'd touched him, his skin tingling. The warmth of her fingers seemed to linger there, branding him. Something about her being so self-sure always made him want to roll his eyes. But a part of him…was starting to welcome it to. Like a big brother teasing him. But still–

"You're so full of yourself." He gruffed with a hard huff through his nose.

"Am I wrong?" Her eyebrow arched in challenge, but her smile wavered at the edges.

The spring breeze picked up then, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms and something green and growing. It tugged at the hem of her traveling cloak, making the fabric dance around her boots. Behind her, the horses snorted and shifted, their massive heads bobbing with impatience. The sky stretched pale and clean above them, washed clear by the cold dawn and promising warmth to come.

Nicoli's gaze flicked to the carriage—polished wood and brass fittings that gleamed like jewelry, Almonies' sigil stamped into the door in a striking sunflower yellow—then back to her face. Something inside his chest was pulling tight, like a bowstring drawn too far.

"You'll write me, right?" The question escaped before he could stop it, smaller and more desperate than he'd intended.

Hidi's expression softened, the teasing light in her eyes replaced by something warmer, more sincere. "Of course. You'll be getting sick of me by the third letter." She paused, studying his face with an intensity that made him want to look away. "Why do you look like someone's about to execute you?"

"Well, don't wait too long," he said quickly, the words tumbling over each other. His heart was beating too fast, hammering against his ribs. "I want to know... if you see Ana."

The change in her expression was immediate and subtle—a flicker of something unreadable across her features. Her smile faltered, just for a moment. "You…I see. You want to hear about her." 

"Anything. I don't care what it is." His throat felt dry and scratchy. He swallowed hard, tasting dust and desperation. "Just... write me."

Hidi studied him for a long moment, her head tilted slightly. The teasing mask had slipped completely now, revealing something raw and honest underneath. When she spoke, her voice was softer, more careful.

"I will. I'll find something." She paused, then stepped closer, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "Maybe I'll even show up and knock on her door. Catch her off guard."

She turned toward the carriage, her boots clicking against the stone, but paused with one hand on the polished door handle. When she looked back, there was mischief dancing in her eyes again, but it felt forced now, like she was trying to lighten a moment that had grown too heavy.

"Honestly, how dare she not write to me. I'm starting to believe your sister is rather an airhead if things aren't right in her face. I might have to punish her."

Nicoli blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. "Punish—what do you mean?"

Her grin was all teeth now, sharp and wicked. "You know that Logwood meat we serve on national feast days?"

Nicoli grimaced, remembering the awful meat his mother had specially ordered for her. The stench alone made his nose hairs singe. "The one that smells like rotting onions and old sweat?"

"Exactly." She flipped her braid over her shoulder with theatrical flair. "I'll make her eat two helpings. Cold."

Laughter bubbled up from his chest, surprising him with its warmth. For a moment, the tight knot of anxiety in his stomach loosened. He could picture Ana's horrified expression, the way she'd go pale green around the gills. If only he could be there to witness such perfect revenge.

But his laughter died abruptly when he noticed the tears gathering at the corners of Hidi's eyes, catching the morning light like tiny diamonds.

"Hidi?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "Are you crying?"

Her breath hitched, just slightly. "I'm going to miss this. Hearing your laugh." The words came out thick, unsteady. "It's been... It's been nice, having someone who actually thinks I'm funny."

Before he could respond, before he could process what was happening, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. The kiss was soft, warm, and over far too quickly—just a whisper of contact that left his skin burning and his heart stuttering in his chest.

When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with unshed tears. The sight alone made Nicoli almost forget himself. He didn't even think she could cry. Hidi was always laughing and loud. But she seemed to have something soft in her that could.

"I'll write to you as soon as I get home, ja?" she whispered, her accent thicker with emotion.

"Hidi?" He could barely form her name, startled more by the tears than the kiss, more by the sudden vulnerability than the way his cheek still tingled where her lips had touched.

But she was already climbing into the carriage, her moment of softness hidden behind a mask of forced cheer. She waved through the open window, her smile too bright, too wide.

"Don't be like your sister—write to me!" she called as the carriage lurched into motion with a groan of wood and metal.

The wheels scraped against stone, iron rims sparking against cobblestones. The driver's whip cracked once, twice, and the horses strained forward with renewed energy. Hidi waved until she was nothing more than a splash of color among the streets and buildings, fading into the distance like a half-remembered dream.

A quiet sigh broke the morning stillness beside him—the soft sound of silk against silk, the whisper of fabric, and the sharp click of heeled shoes against stone.

"Such a bold girl," said a familiar voice, sweet and light for the morning that it almost sounded normal. Familiar enough that a part of him wanted to cling to it. To return to how things were. But he knew better.

Nicoli turned slowly, as if moving through thick water.

His mother stood bathed in morning light, her pale gold robe flowing around her like liquid sunshine. Even at this early hour, she was perfectly composed—makeup applied with expert precision, hair pinned in an elaborate style that must have taken her lady's maid an hour to perfect. She was a vision of ethereal grace, beautiful in the way that porcelain dolls are beautiful—flawless and untouchable and somehow not quite real.

Her smile was radiant, unguarded for once, and it tugged at something deep in his chest. For just a moment, she looked like the mother from his earliest memories—the one who used to read him stories and kiss his scraped knees, who never used to drink alone in her chambers or stare through him like he was made of glass.

The transformation was so complete, so sudden, that it left him feeling dizzy and off-balance.

"Though her mother was the same," Belinda continued, her grey eyes following the road where Hidi's carriage had disappeared. "She was always forceful. Hidi must take after her."

"There are two of them? That's terrifying," Nicoli muttered, but his voice sounded strange to his own ears—too high, too thin. The thought of facing another person like Hidi made his head spin. One was enough trouble, though he was beginning to realize that her particular brand of chaos had been... comforting, in its own way.

His mother's laugh was like silver bells, bright and musical, but there was something hollow underneath it. Her gaze grew distant, unfocused, as if she were seeing something just beyond the horizon that only she could perceive.

"Perhaps. But you'll have to get used to it eventually." The words carried weight, hidden meaning that made his curiosity spike. What did she mean 'get used to'?

"Why's that?" he asked, but she was already turning away, looking back toward the castle with an expression that made his chest tighten with familiar dread.

The radiant smile was fading like sunset, shadows settling around her features like a veil. The distant, glassy look was returning to her eyes—the one that suggested she was seeing through him rather than at him, as if he were already a ghost haunting her periphery.

"It feels so empty," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands fluttered at her sides like trapped birds. "The party guests have gone. Your father's gone. And now not even Hidi to join me for tea."

The loneliness in her voice was so raw, so desperate, that it seemed to reach inside his chest and squeeze his heart with cold fingers.

"Your Majesty?" Julia's voice drifted from the archway, gentle but concerned. The elderly woman moved slowly, each step careful and measured, her face flinching slightly as if her back still pained her from the punishment. "We should go inside."

"Oh, that's right." Belinda turned back to him suddenly, her movements sharp and almost frantic. She reached for his hand, her fingers closing around his with desperate strength. "But I still have my Nicoli. I still have you."

Her fingers were cold, the skin powdered smooth, but her grip firm, possessive—not the gentle touch of a loving mother, but the desperate clutch of someone drowning. Her smile stretched across her painted lips like a ribbon pulled too tight. The gesture never reached her eyes. If anything, her eyes only dimmed further in the sunlight, turning flat and grey as winter storm clouds, reflecting nothing but emptiness.

Nicoli swallowed, his chest hollowing as if her words had scraped something out of him.

"I still have you." The echo of it rang in his head.

Nicoli's throat constricted.The weight of her gaze pressed down on his shoulders, made it difficult to breathe, difficult to think of anything beyond the crushing responsibility of being her anchor, her reason, her entire world.

The phantom pressure of her grip lingered even after she let go, like a permanent stain on his skin, marking him as the bearer of all her pain and disappointment and desperate hope.

She meant it. She needed it. Nicoli felt his throat tighten with words choking behind his tongue. He had to swallow down a dry gulp, push down his feelings. He had to.

"Yes, Mother." The words emerged with practiced precision, shaped carefully and gently because he could feel the fragility radiating from her, could sense how easily she might shatter if he said the wrong thing. His voice cracked faintly at the end, like fine china beginning to chip beneath its glaze.

Her hand lingered a second too long before releasing him, and even then he could feel the phantom grip like a brand against his palm.

And then it was just him, walking back alone through halls that felt too quiet, too vast, too empty. His footsteps echoed off wooden floors with hollow percussion that seemed to mock him with its solitude. No laughter now. No Hidi spinning behind him in those ridiculous pointed boots, her skirts swirling and her voice filling the silence with stories and jokes and gentle teasing. No party guests with their bright chatter and clinking glasses. No father with his steady presence and unreadable eyes.

Just fading warmth and the weight of silence pressing against his eardrums.

He shut his bedroom door behind him with excessive care, but the soft click still seemed too loud in the stillness, too final. The walls felt closer than they had that morning, the air heavier and more stifling. It was only the thought of Ana's little chess bear—solid and real and untouched by all the chaos swirling around him—that had managed to lift the pressure in his chest even slightly.

But that was before he saw it was gone.

Now…

Nicoli pressed the heel of his palm into his temple, dragging his hand down his face with enough force to leave red marks on his skin. The flesh was warm, slightly clammy with nervous sweat, but the pressure building inside his skull refused to budge. It just kept growing, slow and relentless—like water filling a basin with no drain, rising higher and higher until it threatened to overflow.

His mind felt overcrowded, every corner occupied by someone else's shadow, someone else's needs and expectations and unspoken demands.

His father's face swam forward unbidden—that tired, unreadable expression he'd worn during their last conversation, the weight behind his words that had stuck to Nicoli's ribs like tar. The questions he hadn't asked, the truths that remained hidden, the stubborn silence that had stretched between them like a chasm.

What truth? The question still gnawed at him, pulled something taut in his chest that was already frayed and overstretched. He needed answers, craved them with an intensity that left him feeling hollow and desperate.

With Hidi gone—the last person who made the world feel lighter, less sharp around the edges—the silence around him felt louder than ever. There was no one left to speak to freely, no buffer to absorb the sting of his mother's moods or soften the impact of his father's absence. No room to unravel, even when he felt like a thread barely holding together.

And Ana…

His chest constricted at the thought of her—silver hair and red eyes and a smile that had once made him feel like he was the most important person in the world. He didn't know what had happened, but he remembered the way his father had hesitated when her name came up, how his mother's lips thinned and her eyes went cold whenever Ana was mentioned.

Something was happening. Something that involved his sister, his parents, and secrets he wasn't supposed to know.

But no one would tell him what it was.

The weight of it all pressed down on his shoulders, making his breathing shallow and quick. He could feel hairline fractures forming beneath the surface of his composure—tiny cracks that would spread and widen with each new disappointment, each fresh mystery.

One more missing thing. One more whispered conversation he wasn't meant to overhear. One more strained smile…

"No. It has to be here." He shook his head violently, as if he could physically dislodge the spiraling thoughts. His hair fell across his forehead, damp with perspiration.

"So where is it?"

He dropped to his knees and checked the floor again, patting along the baseboards, the cracks between tiles. Nothing. Not even a scrape where it might have rolled. The marble bear was simply… gone.

Nothing. Not even a scratch where the bear might have rolled, not a trace of marble dust or the faintest indication that it had ever existed.

The marble bear was simply... gone. Vanished as completely as if it had never been real at all.

Just like Ana's letters, which had stopped coming. Just like the pressed flower she'd once given him, carefully preserved between the pages of a book that was no longer on his shelf. Just like the golden bear brooch that had disappeared from his jewelry box.

"Why is it always her things?" The words escaped as a whisper, raw and broken. His jaw clenched so tight it ached, muscles jumping beneath the skin.

Someone must have taken it. It seemed the only solution. But who?

"Did he-" 

The soft scrape of leather soles against the hallway runner made his blood run cold. He shot to his feet, schooling his expression into something neutral and pleasant just as the door clicked open with ominous precision.

Thomas stepped into the room like smoke, all subtle menace and calculated grace. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, pale eyes glinting with the kind of quiet calculation that made Nicoli's skin crawl. His polished shoes made no sound on the marble tile—a trick that had always unnerved the prince, the way the man could move through the castle like a ghost.

When he spoke, his voice was smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. "Where is what, Your Royal Highness?" The question was accompanied by a mild arch of his eyebrow that somehow managed to convey both innocence and threat. "You are making quite the noise."

Nicoli's muscles tensed involuntarily, his shoulders drawing up defensively. The servant's presence made his throat go dry, made every instinct scream at him to run or do anything except stand there under those calculating eyes that saw too much and reported everything back to his mother.

"The bear," Nicoli said, biting off the words. He didn't bother hiding the strain in his voice. "The marble one."

He glanced at the nightstand again, as if it might have materialized there in the seconds since Thomas had entered.

"I had it here," he said, voice rising slightly. "Before I went to say goodbye to Hidi."

His breath caught in his throat, chest tightening around lungs that suddenly felt too small. I know I put it here. The certainty of it burned in his mind, solid and unshakeable. He wasn't losing his grip on reality. He wasn't imagining things.

He rounded on the servant, eyes sharp. "Did you move it?"

Thomas's thin smile didn't falter. "No, Your Majesty." His tone remained level, pleasant, and artificial.

He stepped closer, posture loose but his eyes too focused, too calculating. Like a snake pretending not to strike.

Thomas's shoes clicked quietly across the floor as he approached. "No servant has entered, Your Majesty. Not while I was on watch."

Nicoli's stomach twisted. His fists clenched at his sides.

"Then where is it?" The words broke loose from his throat, raw, cracking slightly. "Things don't just vanish."

Thomas's eyes narrowed slightly at the rise, a slight sliver of annoyance running across his bland features. Clearly not liking to be challenged by the prince. But he managed not to lose his temper. But he recovered quickly, his composure sliding back into place like armor.

"Perhaps it fell," he offered with unconvincing dryness. The lie was so transparent, so carelessly constructed, that Nicoli almost laughed at the sheer audacity of it.

"It didn't fall." His hands clenched tighter, knuckles white with strain. "I've looked everywhere. Under everything. Behind everything."

Thomas tilted his head with mock concern, that practiced smile stretching wider. "Are you upset that it's missing?"

The question hit like a physical blow, loaded with implications and unspoken threats. Nicoli's fingers twitched with the urge to wipe that smug expression off the servant's face, but he forced himself to drop to his knees beside the nightstand instead—not to search again, but to put distance between them, to buy himself time to think without those penetrating eyes dissecting his every reaction.

He stared at the spot where the bear should have been. The bare wood gleamed under the windowlight.

Of course it was gone. He should have expected this by now, should have learned not to hope for anything connected to Ana to remain untouched. But the disappointment still hit him like a physical blow, settling in his chest alongside all the other accumulated grief.

It just added to the growing list of things bothering him today. His eyes burned. He blinked fast. He wouldn't cry.

"I was at least hoping-" He needed it. He just… needed something real. Something untouched. Something that mattered.

But now, even that was being stripped away.

His mother's suffocating need. His father's mysterious absence. Ana's inexplicable silence. And now this—another piece of her methodically erased from his life.

Why did things keep getting harder?

His nails dug crescents into his palms hard enough to draw blood. The pain was sharp and immediate, grounding him in the present moment when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.

"Your Majesty? Are you feeling unwell?" Thomas's voice carried false concern, but his eyes were sharp and attentive, cataloging every micro-expression.

"What? No." Nicoli jerked his hand away from his palm, suddenly hyperaware of the servant's scrutiny.

He'd forgotten Thomas was still there—still watching with those pale, calculating eyes that missed nothing and forgave less.

I can't be upset. The realization hit him like ice water. Not in front of Thomas. Not in front of anyone now.

He had to be more careful, had to hide the tempest of emotions swelling inside his chest like a rising tide. One wrong word, one unguarded expression, and it would all be reported back to his mother along with Thomas's own twisted interpretation of events.

He forced the words out slowly, each syllable carefully controlled. "No. Of course not."

The smile he summoned felt like broken glass against his face, but he held it in place, pressing it high enough to make his eyes nearly disappear behind squeezed lids. Just a boy. That's all he could afford to look like—a simple, happy little prince with nothing more pressing on his mind than sweets and sunshine.

"Your Majesty?" Thomas's eyes narrowed as if he were trying to peel back the mask, to see what lay writhing underneath.

But Nicoli had grown skilled at this particular performance. The months of practice showed in the steadiness of his breathing, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way he didn't flinch or blink under the man's invasive stare.

"You're right," he added, voice chipper now, "I'm sure it'll turn up."

Thomas inclined his head with exaggerated grace, but his eyes remained predatory. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Nicoli maintained his empty smile, but behind the pleasant mask, his mind was already burning with cold fury. He saw the way Thomas's gaze lingered on the room, cataloging and assessing. The way his fingers twitched slightly, as if they wanted to reach out and touch, to take, to rearrange.

He knows. The certainty settled in Nicoli's gut like lead. Thomas had done something—or if not him directly, then someone in his network of whispers and watching eyes. Someone who knew exactly what to take, what would hurt most, what mattered beyond its material value.

His gaze drifted to the corner of the bed where the loose post rested undisturbed, concealing the entrance to his secret tunnel. That hiding place remained safe—for now. But he wasn't naive enough to believe it would stay hidden forever.

This was a game being played around him, over him, through him. A complex web of manipulation and control that he was only beginning to understand.

But he could play too. And Nicoli was determined to win.

Because this was no longer about a missing toy. If someone was taking these things—if someone wanted Ana gone from his life—then they were going to fail. He wouldn't let her be erased. Not like this.

Nicoli's smile didn't waver.

"Even if it's something small," he said quietly, "eventually something's going to give."

Thomas didn't reply. Just watched.

But Nicoli didn't need a reply. He knew what he needed to do.

He would outlast them. He would learn what his father was hiding. He would understand why his mother kept looking through him as if he were a ghost.

And he would find out everything about Ana—why she left, why they kept her away, and what it was they didn't want him to know.

No matter how many bears went missing. No matter how many strained conversations he would endure with his father. How many stretched-thin smiles he would make for his mother. 

He'd get to the truth. He'd reach the end of it.

Even if it took years.

Even if he had to become exactly what they never saw coming.

Thomas blinked slowly, then nodded with mechanical precision. "Very good, Your Majesty."

As the door closed behind him, Nicoli exhaled slowly and looked back at the nightstand. It was just empty wood now. Cold, and blank.

But the fire in his chest refused to die.

They thought they could chip her away, one piece at a time. A letter was misplaced. A gift gone. A memory left to rot. They thought he wouldn't notice. That he'd forget.

But Nicoli didn't forget. Not Ana. Never Ana.

He had written to her for years—clumsy, earnest letters at first, pressed hard in childish script with ink that smeared under eager fingers. Then longer ones as he grew older, careful, neater with better drawings. He started to draw on the envelopes, hoping that would cozx her to read them.Through dust and distance and the silence between stars, he'd sent pieces of himself across whatever void kept them apart.

And still, nothing ever came back. Not a single word.

Yet he kept writing, kept hoping, kept believing with the stubborn faith of someone who had never learned when to surrender.

Because some part of him knew—knew—that she was out there somewhere. That his words found her somehow, carried by hope and longing and the kind of love that refuses to acknowledge impossibility.

He pressed his fingertips to the polished surface where the bear had stood, the wood warm under his touch. As if by sheer force of will he could send something across the distance—a whisper of comfort, a flicker of warmth, a promise that she wasn't forgotten.

Wherever you are... The thought formed without words, rising from someplace deeper than language. I hope you can feel this.

Perhaps it was childish, this belief in invisible threads and psychic connections. But something inside him insisted that love this strong, this pure, couldn't simply vanish into nothing. It had to go somewhere, had to touch something, had to matter.

He pictured her as he'd last seen her—silver hair catching moonlight like spun starshine, red eyes fierce and unbroken despite whatever pain had driven her away. Standing somewhere far from here, alone but undefeated, her spine straight and her chin raised in defiance of whatever forces sought to break her.

Be safe, he thought with desperate intensity. Be brave. Just a little longer. Dad's on the way. He would help. Whatever was happening over there.

Because this was about more than secrets or missing trinkets or childhood treasures, this was about her—about bringing her back into the light where she belonged, about proving that some bonds are too strong to sever with mere distance and time.

"Eventually," he whispered to the empty room, his voice carrying the weight of absolute conviction, "everything has to end."

And when it did—when every lie was stripped away, every deception unraveled, every mask finally removed—he would be there. Standing at the edge of truth with arms open and heart ready.

Waiting to welcome her home. Her true home being with him.

Just like they were always meant to be.