Rain fell on Silver Creek like the sky was mourning.
Not gentle. Not cleansing. Just cold, hard drops that turned the old estate's gravel drive into mud and memory. Kai stood at the edge of the ruined garden, rifle slung low, eyes scanning the tree line. His coat was soaked through, but he didn't feel it. He hadn't felt much since the Silencer hit.
His hands—once steady enough to thread a needle at fifty paces—now trembled when he tried to light a cigarette.
Not from fear.
From absence.
The bond was gone. The quiet hum in his bones that told him where Luna was, whether she was safe—it had vanished the moment the virus bloomed. Like a wire cut clean.
He missed it more than he'd ever admit.
Behind him, the manor groaned. Old wood settling. Or maybe ghosts stirring. This place had seen too much: first experiments, last stands, whispered promises broken before dawn.
