Bram was gone before she even opened her eyes. He’d left quietly, knowing a drawn-out goodbye would only make it worse. Now, sipping coffee from a steward, he stared at the camera feed. She wandered into the living room, calling his name. “I’m pissed at you,” she said, glaring straight into the lens. Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she flashed a heart sign with her hands. He felt like he was unraveling, the urge to turn back clawing at him. His blood simmered, he’d need to shift as soon as he got back, run wild, burn off this frustration.
He shut his eyes and there she was, her face seared into his mind.
Dahlia showered, threw on some clothes, and flopped onto the couch. She popped in her earbuds, grabbed her sketchbook, and got to work. The project was nearly finished anyway; mos
