Gillian stood in the center of the master bedroom, his gaze fixed on the bed where Elena had once rested. The silence of the room was absolute, a suffocating vacuum that seemed to draw the very warmth from the air. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the velvet quilt, but he did not touch it. The fabric was cold, undisturbed by the presence of a living soul. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow, a hollow ache that resonated deep within his bones. She was gone, and with her departure, the anchor that had held his world together had snapped.
He felt the shift in his own physiology immediately. For years, Elena had been the living barrier, the gentle force that muted the jagged, relentless frequency of the Eye of Death. Her proximity had been a sanctuary, a
