Seven days after the wedding that never happened, the world had already begun calling it an unexplained disappearance.
Thomas stood near the arched doorway of the study, silent as a shadow. His eyes, lined with exhaustion, tracked the man sitting behind the sprawling oak desk.
Cael Alexander hadn't changed his shirt since yesterday. The dark linen was wrinkled at the elbows, the top buttons undone to expose the hollow of his throat. His massive frame, usually an absolute vertical interruption that demanded the immediate submission of every room he entered, looked strangely hollowed. Heavy, purplish shadows bruised the skin beneath his dark eyes.
A tablet sat in the center of the desk, its screen blinking with a persistent, rhythmic blue light.
NEW UPDATE: VALE GRID SEARCH - SECTOR 4 - NEGATIVE.
NEW UPDATE: ARCHIVE CORRIDOR SWEEP - NEGATIVE.
Alistair kept sending updates. Every hour, like clockwork.
