Lance woke up alone.
His hand moved across the bed before his eyes had even fully opened, an instinct faster than thought, reaching for warmth that was no longer there. The sheets on the other side were cool beneath his fingertips.
He sat up.
The room was bright with morning light, the city visible and indifferent through the windows, yet Ansel was nowhere to be seen.
Something cold moved through Lance's chest.
He was out of bed before he fully registered standing, moving through the house with increasing urgency. He checked the bathroom, the study, and the living room, his unease growing with every space.
He refused to examine why it mattered.
He kept moving.
By the time he reached the hallway, he was already heading for the front door. His hand had almost closed around the handle, his mind already preparing for the hollow realization that Ansel had left without saying a word, when a familiar voice stopped him.
"Where are you rushing to so urgently?"
Lance froze.
