The bed.
Floating through the rain blowing in from the shattered window.
Sixteen years of love scattered across my childhood bedroom like ghosts finally ripped free.
My chest hurt so badly I could barely stand.
“Hersh…”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Because he was staring at the open box on the floor.
Not at the letters.
At the empty space inside it.
Wolf crouched beside the box carefully.
“Something was here.”
Trigger appeared in the doorway breathing hard. “Please tell me we shot somebody.”
“Nope,” Wolf answered.
“Disappointing.”
Normally that would’ve made me smile.
Tonight nobody reacted.
Because Hersh had gone terrifyingly still.
Rain lashed through broken glass behind him while lightning illuminated his face for half a second at a time.
Cold.
Focused.
Dangerous.
“What’s missing?” Wolf asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
My voice sounded tiny in the room.
Helpless.
I hated that.
Hersh finally knelt beside the box slowly.
One rough hand moved through the soaked letters with unbelievable care.
Like they mattered.
Like they were precious.
