LUCA'S POV
I came home at five.
Not because I'd finished. The northern reports were still spread open on my desk, three contracts waiting on the morning, two messages from Logan I hadn't answered.
I came home because I wanted to.
The kitchen was empty.
I checked the library next — the window seat where she read in the afternoons, the ledgers spread across the desk, her pen lying across the margin where she'd set it down mid-note. The ink on the last line hadn't dried.
She'd been here.
The sitting room. The garden. The corridor past the formal dining room.
Nothing.
Her scent was still in the house — that clean, soft thing I'd started noticing without meaning to. She just wasn't in any of the rooms.
I found Mira near the east wing, arms full of folded linens.
"Have you seen Anna?"
