Page 208 of His Reckoning

I look back up at them. “Where is she?”

Melissa’s lips curve slightly. “That’s more like it.”

* * *

The apartment feels different the moment I walk in. I stand just inside the door for a second, keys still in my hand, staring into the living room, like I’m expecting something to move, but nothing does.

Of course it doesn’t.

I shut the door behind me, and the sound echoes more than it should. I toss my keys onto the counter, and they land with a hollow clatter that seems louder than usual. It’s familiar but foreign. I’ve heard that hollow noise many times before, but not since Kayla had moved in.

Now it’s back.

I drag a hand through my hair and exhale slowly, trying to shake the feeling off, but it doesn’t work.

Now that I’m here … I can see it everywhere.

Kayla.

Her laptop is gone. That’s the first thing I notice. The kitchen island looks wrong without it. It’s too clean and empty, like something’s missing that should be there.

My eyes move to the couch, where the blanket she used to wrap around herself is folded neatly over the back now. Not draped or half falling onto the floor the way it always was. Now it’s neat.

My body feels rigid as I step farther into the room, slower now.

The mug she always used sits in the sink. I stare at it for a second longer than I should. I can picture it too clearly.

Her standing at the counter, half awake, with her hair a mess.

Arguing with me about whether coffee actually “worked” or if it was just a placebo.

A breath leaves my chest. I turn away from the sink to move toward the living room since standing here isn’t helping. Nothing about this is helping.

I drop onto the couch, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, staring at the floor.

The silence presses in again, heavier this time. There’s nothing to distract from it.

No typing or random commentary. No voice filling the space. Just … nothing.

I lean back slowly and let my head fall against the cushion, closing my eyes for a second.

Bad idea.

The memories hit harder. Her laughing, arguing, and falling asleep mid-sentence flood my brain. The way she’d shift closer without thinking when she got tired. How she’d mumble something about being “too comfortable” before passing out.

I open my eyes again immediately and stare up at the ceiling.

I sit up slowly, dragging a hand down my face. Now I can’t stop thinking about what Dean said.

“… she stayed.”

Not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

My jaw tightens.

I push to my feet again, pacing once across the room. If I sit here too long, I’m going to keep replaying it. Keep seeing things differently.

I stop near the hallway as my gaze catches on something I didn’t notice before.