The silence of the coastal estate was more oppressive than the chaos of the cathedral. Enock sat on the floor of the master suite, staring at the indentation on the bed where Mileh's ring still lay. The weight of her words—that her heart still beat for Arm, and that their entire foundation was built on a chemical mistake—crushed the last of his pride.
He reached for a bottle of expensive bourbon from the sideboard, drinking it straight until his vision blurred. He felt like a ghost haunting his own life.
Back at the city estate, Mild and Arm were finally sharing a moment of respite. They were in the kitchen, Mild making tea while Arm sat at the island, looking more human than he had in weeks. The tension had just begun to bleed out of Arm's shoulders when his phone vibrated violently against the marble countertop.
The caller ID read: ENOCK.
Arm hesitated. "He should be with Mileh. Why is he calling me?"
"Answer it," Mild said softly. "He sounded broken today, Arm."
