Cyrus's eyes opened to pale morning light filtering through the penthouse windows.
For a moment, he lay still, savoring the memory of the previous evening—Kane humming while he cooked pasta, their quiet laughter during a particularly brutal boss fight, and the warm weight of Kane's body against his in the shower.
Cyrus had held the fox spirit close through the night, breathing in the scent of his hair.
This, Cyrus had thought drowsily. I could do this every day for the rest of my existence.
Now his arm swept across cool sheets, finding nothing but empty space.
Cyrus sat up, fully alert. The bathroom door stood open, no sound of running water. No clatter from the kitchen, and no familiar off-key humming.
He pulled on pajama pants and walked through the penthouse, checking each room, but no sign of his naughty fox.
Cyrus found himself standing in the kitchen, staring at the coffee maker Kane had programmed the night before.
