Part 70
(Alex's POV)
The quiet was starting to hurt.
Alex's room looked the same — neat, meticulous, lined with screens — but the air had changed. It buzzed with absence. Every refresh ended in the same empty result: No updates. No sightings. No trace.
She clicked, scrolled, checked again.
Each failure burned hotter than the last.
He's hiding.
Her jaw tightened. The mouse hit the desk too hard, clattering once before rolling to the floor. She didn't pick it up. She paced instead — short, quick steps that grew sharper each turn.
How could he disappear like that? After everything she'd done?
After she'd stayed, waited, protected him from people who would've destroyed him long before Ethan even tried?
She had been his shadow, his warning, his mirror.
And he just… vanished.
The air felt too thin.
She opened the window, but the noise outside only grated against her nerves — laughter, traffic, lives that weren't hers or his.
Her eyes caught the bouquet on the table. Wilted flowers.
She'd kept one of them, even when the petals browned.
It was supposed to remind her of him — delicate, loyal, pure.
Now it looked like mockery.
She grabbed the vase and threw it.
Glass shattered, water ran like veins across the floor.
"You think you can run from me?"
The words came out hoarse, trembling, somewhere between grief and fury.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the uneven thud of her heartbeat — like a trapped bird.
You're mine to watch.
You don't get to disappear.
Her reflection in the dark window stared back — pale, disheveled, eyes bright with something unsteady.
For the first time in months, she looked like she didn't know what to do.
And that terrified her.
But Alex didn't give up. She never had.
Her mind started turning again — slower now, colder.
If he'd left the city, there would still be traces. Receipts. Transport logs. Someone must've seen him.
Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke again.
"You can't hide forever, Adrian…"
"I'll find you."
And for a long while, she meant it not as a promise — but a warning.