Dominic sat at his desk, fingers tapping restlessly. Three days, and still no word from Clara. His phone screen flickered on and off—no calls, no texts, no familiar footsteps at the door.
On the fourth morning, he stared at the empty chair across the breakfast table, his chest tight. He rubbed his temples, and suddenly, strange text flashed before his eyes.
[What's Dominic doing just sitting there? Clara's really gone!]
[I'm freaking out! If he doesn't go after her, she'll vanish for good!]
He shot to his feet, the chair scraping the floor. He stared at the air, but the words vanished like a mirage. "What the hell was that?" he muttered, fingers clenching.
At the hospital, in the psych ward, the healer adjusted her glasses. "Dominic, your tests are normal. Brain scan's clean, nervous
