The weekend arrived, and with it, a gnawing unease that settled deep in my chest. Krista was in the mountains, at her family's summer house – a place removed from the familiar, controlled environment of the city and school. Despite her assurances, despite the numbers of her family and their attendants, the thought of her venturing into such an expansive, secluded area made me restless. My instincts, honed over centuries, screamed 'vulnerable.'
I'd grilled her for details at lunch, my questions betraying a possessiveness I hadn't realized was so acute. Eight cousins, two butlers, fifty-four acres of forests and open land. It was enough to deter casual human trespassers, perhaps even minor vampire rogues, but it was far from impenetrable against a determined threat, especially given the current climate of unrest. The half-bloods were emboldened; the Church was pushing its agenda. The world felt like a taut string, ready to snap.
I couldn't simply 'pass by' a private property in the mountains. My presence would be an immediate, undeniable breach of protocol, potentially exposing my extraordinary concern for her to her family and, worse, to my own. I had to maintain a discreet distance.
But 'discreet' didn't mean 'inactive.' My network, usually reserved for larger political intelligence, was quietly redirected. Subtle sensors, far beyond human detection, were deployed around the general vicinity of her family's property, their scope broad enough to avoid suspicion yet sensitive enough to register any significant anomalies. My attention, however, remained acutely focused on the area.
I spent the entire weekend in a state of heightened alert, pouring over maps of the Church's mountain territories, cross-referencing recent reports of unusual energy signatures or movements. Every rustle of leaves outside my window, every distant sound, pulled my attention. The vastness of the mountain range, while beautiful, felt like a gaping maw of uncertainty. My friends, aware of my agitated state, offered distractions – training, political debates, even Jeremy's persistent calls for arcade trips – but my focus remained fractured.
Marcus noted my preoccupation. "She'll be fine, Kai. Her father has ample security. The Church protects its own, especially their prized Princess." His words, meant to reassure, only fueled my irritation. It wasn't about the Church's protection; it was about my promise.
I dismissed his concern with a wave of my hand, feigning disinterest. "Her safety is a matter of stability. Any incident involving the Church Leader's family would only further destabilize relations." A perfectly rational, politically sound explanation. One I knew he saw right through.
Then came the news that her stay was extended for a full week. The immediate relief that nothing overtly catastrophic had happened during the initial weekend was swiftly replaced by a deepening unease. A week. Why? If it were truly a harmless vacation, she wouldn't have needed an extended absence from school, especially not after the recent abduction. My concern sharpened into a cold certainty: something had transpired, something significant enough to keep her there.
Throughout that long week, my remote sensors continued their ceaseless watch, frustratingly providing no definitive answers. The vague, unconfirmed report of a "localized disturbance" lingered in my mind, gaining weight with each passing day she remained out of contact. I expanded my search, tapping into more obscure channels, looking for whispers, for discrepancies, for anything that would explain her prolonged absence and the feeling that she was in a deeper situation than I could currently grasp. I analyzed every satellite feed, every old map, every historical record of that particular mountain region.
The days crawled by, each one amplifying the gnawing worry. The silence from her end, the lack of any official Church bulletin regarding her family's activities, only added to the mystery. It wasn't a peaceful week for me; it was a vigil, a test of my patience and my resolve.
When the following Monday morning finally arrived, bringing with it the expectation of her return to school, a breath I hadn't realized I was holding finally released. She was back. Physically, she was safe. But the vague unease lingered, intensified by the full week of uncertainty. I couldn't shake the feeling that something had transpired there, something beyond the scope of my remote sensors, something she might have faced alone. The casual confidence she'd projected about her family's secure property felt hollow now. And a new, quiet determination began to form: to understand what had truly happened during her prolonged time away.