The pale edge of dawn had just started to bleed into the horizon when Devil woke up.
His first thought was that the bed felt wrong—cold on one side, the soft weight of Haru missing beside him. He sat up, instantly alert. His eyes darted to the clock on the nightstand. Three in the morning.
He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the drowsiness, but something in his chest already felt off. A creeping instinct that something was wrong.
“Haru?” he called out, his voice low but sharp, scanning the dim room. No answer.
Her slippers were gone. So was the thin cardigan she often wore over her nightdress. The bed on her side was cold meant that she was out there for quite some already.
Devil’s pulse began to pick up.
He threw off the blanket, pulled on his jeans and boots, and wa
