I wake slick with sweat, sheets twisted around my legs. For a disoriented second, I think the thermostat is broken—then I realize the heat is coming from inside me, a deep, restless burn under my skin. Shifters don’t catch colds the way humans do. This isn’t sickness. Maybe the symptom of the medicine the doctor gave me to stop my heat.
Ryker is gone.
I stare at his side of the bed like it might explain something. After yesterday, after the memorial and the way he held me until I fell asleep, I thought this morning would be different. That he would stay. That we would finally talk when the worst of the day was behind us.
But maybe he isn’t ready. I can’t demand healing on my timeline. I can’t measure his grief against mine and call it wrong. I just… hate how lonely it feels when he choo
