Alistair's POV
The house wasn't loud, but the silence had a weight to it—
the kind that formed after something went wrong.
I'd checked Charles' room three times now.
Bed cold.
Window locked.
No shoes missing.
No coat gone.
He hadn't just left early.
He vanished.
And Louis…
Louis wouldn't even look at me.
He sat at the table with that stiff, quiet panic he tried so hard to hide. His jaw kept tightening, his hands flexing under the table. His scent was unstable—fear layered over guilt, then something I couldn't name.
Something that felt like loss.
I watched him pretend to eat. Pretend to breathe normally. Pretend he didn't feel like he was breaking apart.
I'd never seen him like this.
When father started another lecture about alliances and families, Louis didn't even hear him. His eyes kept drifting—toward the stairs, toward the door, toward anywhere Charles might be.
So when breakfast ended, I followed him.
