The night in California carried a strange stillness. The hum of the streets, though faint, seemed to echo louder in Mia's ears than usual. She walked slowly down the familiar path that led from the company toward her apartment, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest as though she could keep herself from falling apart.
It had been a long day—one of those days where work piled endlessly, where Daniel's persistent presence tried to intrude on her already exhausted mind, and where the silence from Ryan was like a blade twisting deeper into her chest. He had vanished from her life without explanation, leaving her with nothing but memories to hold on to.
Her heels tapped rhythmically against the sidewalk, the sound mingling with the soft rustle of leaves swaying in the evening breeze. The lampposts cast long, golden shadows across the pavement, and Mia's own silhouette stretched ahead of her, lonely and fragile.
She lifted her gaze to the sky. A handful of stars fought to shine through the haze of city lights, and for a fleeting moment, she imagined Ryan somewhere far away, staring up at the same sky. The thought made her chest ache.
Does he even think about me? she wondered, her brows furrowing. Or has he already moved on?
The questions haunted her.
She had grown used to his presence—the way his deep voice cut through her chaotic days, the way his sharp gaze softened when he looked at her, the way his silence wasn't empty but full, grounding. She never realized how much comfort his existence gave her until it was ripped away.
Her steps slowed as she reached the corner near her building. She paused there, staring at the familiar path, memories tugging at her heart. She remembered the evenings when Ryan walked her home, his broad frame beside her, steady and unyielding. He rarely spoke much, but the weight of his presence had been enough. She had complained before about how quiet he was, how cold he seemed at times, but now she would give anything to have that silence back—because his silence was always protective, always hers.
A lump rose in her throat, and she blinked quickly, fighting back tears. Why am I like this? Why does missing him hurt more than anything I've ever felt?
She turned and kept walking, her heart heavier with every step.
Passing by the little bakery at the corner, she was hit with the scent of freshly baked bread, the warm aroma spilling into the night. Her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to the mornings when Ryan would insist she eat breakfast.
"Stop skipping meals, Mia," he had scolded once, placing a sandwich in front of her at the office desk. His tone had been stern, but his eyes had betrayed a flicker of care.
Back then, she had rolled her eyes, thinking he was being overbearing. Now, standing there outside the bakery, she closed her eyes, wishing she could relive that moment.
By the time she reached her apartment building, her chest felt unbearably tight. She climbed the stairs slowly, unlocked the door, and stepped inside to the suffocating quiet of her home.
She dropped her bag carelessly onto the couch and collapsed into the seat, her fingers clutching the armrest as though grounding herself. The silence wrapped around her, pressing down on her chest until she could hardly breathe.
Her lips trembled as she whispered into the emptiness, "Ryan… why does it feel like I can't breathe without you here?"
The sound of her own voice startled her. It was raw, broken, full of a longing she had tried to deny. She leaned back, closing her eyes, trying to imagine him there with her.
Her thoughts spiraled, drifting between memory and present.
She remembered the way his hand had brushed hers once, lightly, almost by accident, but the warmth had lingered for hours. She remembered how he had glared at Suzan with cold eyes when the woman had flirted too boldly in front of her. She remembered how his entire demeanor shifted whenever she was in danger—how protective, how fierce he became.
"Why can't I stop thinking about you?" she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. "Why does it feel like you've carved yourself into me?"
The tears she had been holding back finally slipped down her cheeks. She curled into herself on the couch, clutching a pillow as if it could fill the hollow space Ryan had left behind.
She didn't remember when sleep came, only that her body gave in to exhaustion.
And in that sleep, she dreamed.
---
She was standing in the middle of a vast forest, moonlight spilling through the branches above. The air smelled of pine and earth, and the silence was deep, almost sacred.
Then she heard it—a low growl, fierce and commanding, yet oddly familiar.
Her heart raced, but instead of fear, warmth flooded her chest. She turned, and there he was. Ryan.
Not in a suit, not in his usual cold expression, but standing before her, his eyes glowing faintly gold, his chest rising and falling as though he had just fought a battle. Yet his gaze on her was gentle, steady, filled with something unspoken but undeniable.
"Mia," he said, his voice carrying across the space between them.
Her name on his lips sounded like a vow, like a promise she didn't understand but deeply longed for.
She stepped toward him, her breath catching. "Ryan…"
He closed the distance in two strides, his hand brushing against her cheek. His touch was warm, grounding, everything she had been craving.
"You're mine," he whispered. "And I'll come back to you."
She wanted to reply, to tell him she wanted the same, but her throat locked, her lips trembling. Tears slipped down her face as she leaned into his hand, clinging to the sensation.
And then he was gone.
The forest faded, the moonlight vanished, and Mia woke with a gasp, her heart pounding in her chest. She sat up on the couch, the room dim in the early dawn light seeping through the curtains.
Her hand lifted to her cheek where his touch had been in the dream, and she exhaled shakily.
"I'm in love with you, Ryan," she whispered into the quiet. "Even if you never come back… I'm in love with you."
...
The moon hung low over the forest, silver light spilling across the camp as the night air carried the scent of blood and ash. Ryan sat on the edge of his bed in the healer's hut, his chest bandaged, his muscles aching from the last brutal fight with the rogues. Every movement sent pain lancing through his ribs, but none of it compared to the deeper ache gnawing at his heart.
Mia.
Her name echoed in his mind like a drumbeat that never ceased. No matter how much he tried to focus on his pack, his warriors, or his father's endless lectures, he found himself drifting back to her. To her laughter. To the way her eyes lit up when she argued with him. To the gentleness she carried even when she was exhausted from work.
He leaned forward, his hands digging into his knees, his wolf restless beneath his skin.
She's far away, but I feel her, his wolf growled inside him. She thinks of us too.
Ryan closed his eyes, exhaling sharply. "I know," he murmured under his breath. "I feel it too."
When he had shifted on the battlefield earlier, in the middle of the chaos, there had been a strange moment where his instincts didn't scream about blood or danger—they screamed about her. A vision of Mia had burned across his mind: her sitting alone, sad, calling out his name. It had shaken him so badly that his guard slipped and the rogue's spear had torn through his side.
He gritted his teeth, remembering. "I can't keep being away from her."
The tent flap rustled, and Suzan stepped in carrying a bowl of herbs. Her eyes lit up at the sight of him sitting awake. "Ryan," she said softly, almost too sweetly, "you should lie down. You're not healed yet."
"I said I don't need your help," Ryan replied coldly, not even sparing her a glance. His patience with her was thinner than the bandages wrapped around his chest.
Her smile faltered, but she tried again. "You can't keep exhausting yourself like this. Let me take care of you."
"Get out," he snapped, his golden eyes flashing. "If I need something, I'll call a maid. Not you."
Suzan stiffened, her face twisting with hurt, but she quickly composed herself and left without another word.
When the silence returned, Ryan exhaled deeply, dragging a hand down his face. He wasn't angry at her—he was angry at himself. At fate. At everything that kept him away from Mia.
He stood slowly, ignoring the pain in his side, and walked outside. The forest stretched endlessly before him, dark and wild. The moonlight reflected in his eyes, making them glow faintly.
He tilted his head back, staring at the sky. The stars above shimmered faintly, the same stars he knew Mia might be seeing wherever she was.
His voice was low, but steady, carried by the night air.
"Mia… I miss you."
The words tasted raw, almost foreign, because he wasn't a man who confessed weakness. But this wasn't weakness. This was truth.
"I'll come back to you," he whispered, his chest tightening. "Even if I have to fight through every rogue, even if I have to go against my father, even if it kills me—I'll come back."
His wolf growled in agreement, a vow of its own.
And though he didn't know it, at that very moment, Mia was whispering his name in her sleep across the ocean, her heart aching for him the same way his ached for her.