(Dion’s POV)
The infirmary carried a different kind of tension that day.
It wasn’t urgent. Not yet. But it sat beneath the surface of everything, quiet and waiting as Layla spoke with the physician, her voice measured as they discussed details—timing, care, what would be needed moving forward. Dion stood nearby, listening without fully engaging, his attention split between the conversation and the constant pull at the back of his mind.
Winter, still distant, still silent.
He hadn’t felt her respond once since she disappeared, the bond stretched thin to the point where it barely registered unless he focused on it. That alone had been enough to unsettle him, but now—standing there, listening to something that should have grounded him—his thoughts kept circling back.
Why wasn’t she answe
