Christy knew something was wrong long before she reached Miles' building. He had not answered a single text or call since morning. Miles did not ignore her, not when his entire future was scheduled down to the minute and not when the wedding was six weeks away and not when every part of his identity was built on control and precision and forward momentum. Today there had been nothing. Silence from a man who hated silence.
The elevator ride stretched like an omen. When she stepped into his apartment, the air hit her first, heavy and sour and soaked with the smell of alcohol and something colder. It was not only liquor. It was the stale metallic quiet of a man who had tried to drown something he could not kill.
"Miles?" she called softly.
No reply.
