Morning mist cloaked the pack road, my suitcase rumbling over the cobblestones. Oliver walked beside me, his hiking pack slung over one shoulder, glancing back now and then.
"I saw him," he said, voice low. "He was outside your place till three a.m."
My grip tightened on the suitcase handle.
For two weeks, Dominic had been everywhere, a ghost I couldn't shake. Buying bread, I'd see him across the street. Sketching in a café, he'd be at the opposite table. Even at midnight, grabbing water, I'd spot his silent figure by the gate.
A car engine roared, shattering the quiet. A black sedan screeched to a stop, tires skidding. Dominic stepped out, eyes bloodshot, striding toward us.
"Why are you leaving?" His voice was raw, desperate. "Why won't you give me a chance? Why not even a goodbye?"
