By Sunday evening, the panic had gone full-bodied.
It crawled under his skin, constant and unrelenting. He couldn't sit still, couldn't focus, couldn't do anything except pace and check his phone and think about all the things he should have done differently.
He’d went to Adriel’s apartment that morning, pounded on the door until his knuckles were bloody, until a neighbor appeared and threatened to call the police if he didn’t leave.
He did, eventually, going back home feeling worse than before.
He'd tried to work. He'd gone to his home office, sat at his desk, opened his laptop. He stared at the screen for twenty minutes without seeing anything.
His phone sat beside him, face-up, screen dark. He kept glancing at it, willing it to light up, willing Adriel's name to appear. It stayed stubbornly dark.
He tried to read an email. Got through the first line before his mind wandered. Tried again. Gave up and just sat there, staring at nothing, while the panic wound itself tighter and tighter inside his chest.
When the email notification popped up, he almost didn't look at it.
Then he saw the sender.
Adriel Alvarez.
For a split second, relief surged through him so hard it almost hurt.
Finally.The word formed in his mind, bright and desperate.Finally, he's…
Then he opened it.
The email was short. It thanked the company for the opportunity. It stated that due to personal reasons, Adriel was resigning effective immediately. It was signed with his full name, formal and distant.
There was no explanation. No emotion. Nogoodbye.
Landen stared at the screen. The words blurred. He blinked, tried to focus, read it again. Then again. Each time, the meaning stayed the same. Each time, the finality of it settled deeper into his chest.
He scrolled down, searching for more. For something hidden. For a note only he would understand. Foranythingthat would make this make sense.
There was nothing.
"No," he said aloud.
He reached for his phone. His hands were shaking, he noticed it dimly. His fingers fumbled, nearly dropped it, finally managed to dial.
The phone rang.
Once. Twice. Three times.
Voicemail.
He hung up. Called again.
Voicemail.
He left a message this time, his voice breaking despite his efforts to keep it steady.
"Adriel, it's me. Please call me. I don't know what happened, but please… just call me. We can talk about this. Whatever it is, we can…"
He stopped. Swallowed. His throat was tight, his eyes burning.
"Please," he said. "Just call me."
He left another message. And another. The words tumbled out, questions and reassurances and apologies he didn't even understand yet. He said things he couldn't remember saying, made promises he couldn't remember making. All of it tumbled out in a rush because the silence on the other end was unbearable.
