This may come as not surprising to you but Elias was fine! Really.
The ceiling above him was lighter, cleaner than the one back in his cramped flat. Sunlight crept through half-open blinds, dust motes floating lazily in the air. His body felt warm, heavy in a good way, like it had finally unclenched after weeks of being coiled too tight.
His fingers drifted, unconsciously, to his neck.
The bite was healing.
Still tender, still faintly sore if he pressed too hard, but no longer angry-red or swollen. Just a pale mark now, fading slowly into his skin like a secret being erased against its will.
He exhaled. Quiet satisfaction curled low in his chest.
He had done it. He had left. He wasn't in that town anymore. He wasn't orbiting danger, or mafia men, or complicated alphas with gentle hands. He wasn't watching over his shoulder every time the café door chimed.
And yet... The longing lingered.
