No sound, whatsoever, came from their bedroom. Not that of water splashing or fabric rustling, not even of breathing or the faintest of heartbeats.
Which Silas thought was odd since usually, by then, Arabella would have been in and getting ready for bed.
A wave of dread rushed him, tugging his heart along into the downward spiral it begot as memory served him the night he had to go back to her dead body on the bed.
His hand didn't shake upon grabbing the knob. On the contrary, he ripped the band-aid at once, barging in on the… Ghosts that occupied the space in their absence.
In both parts of the room, no soul ambled as Arabella wasn't in there at all.
Was she still out in the gardens? He wondered.
A simple solution offered itself to his little predicament, his ears.
Extending his hearing, sifting through the hundreds of voices that lived under their roof, hers came sweet and quiet.
Hushed as though sharing secrets with whoever it was that stood in front of her.
