He rushed to it, snatched it open—and froze.
Inside sat the soup he had made before leaving. Cold. Unmoved. Untouched.
The realization struck like a blade. Kaya hadn't even sipped it. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't drunk anything.
His vision darkened, eyes burning with fury as he straightened, fists curling so tightly his nails bit into his palms.
She was gone. Not since the night. Since the morning.
Veer burst out of his house, his breath ragged, eyes wild. His gaze swept across the village. Some vultures were just returning from their hunts, weary and dragging their feet. Others were still curled inside their huts, heavy with sleep.
"Kaya!" Veer's voice tore through the air, a roar that rattled the quiet dawn. The sound sent a shiver down the spines of those sleeping; startled children whimpered, and grown men stiffened in fear.
