Orifiel sat stiffly at the small café table, his phone resting face-up beside his untouched cup of coffee. The steam curled lazily into the air, but he barely noticed it. His thoughts were elsewhere—tangled, looping, heavy.
Should I call Erelah? The thought returned again and again, gnawing at him. She had disappeared so suddenly, slipping away while he was distracted, and now the silence felt louder than any argument. He hated unfinished conversations. He hated uncertainty even more.
Aniela noticed it immediately. The way his shoulders were tense. The way his fingers twitched slightly every time the phone buzzed—not with a message, but with his own nerves. She leaned forward, concern knitting her brows. “Why… where did she go?” she asked softly. “Hey—are you okay? You’re sweating, El…”
