The absence announces itself quietly.
It does not come with an alarm or raised voices or the sharp edge of urgency that usually accompanies the word missing, and that is what makes it feel wrong almost immediately, because the packhouse keeps moving as if nothing has shifted while something in my chest tightens with the certainty that it has. I notice it first in the training yard, where one space in a familiar rotation remains empty long enough to matter.
“Where’s Rowan,” I ask without thinking.
The warrior nearest me shrugs, casual. “Late shift. Probably overslept.”
Rowan does not oversleep.
The bond hums faintly, not flaring and not panicking, just attentive in a way that makes me pause instead of pushing the thought aside, and I watch the drill continue, the rhythm smooth and prac
