83. The Silence Before The Blue Moon.

Adrian’s POV

The mansion felt wrong the moment I stepped in.

It wasn’t quiet — the mansion was always quiet — but this was different. It was the kind of silence that pressed against the skin, the kind that followed you, the kind that reminded you that things were shifting without your permission.

I stepped fully inside, the doors closing behind me with a dull echo.

The scent hit me immediately.

Lucy.

She was close.

Too close to miss.

I didn’t slow down. I didn’t turn my head. I didn’t acknowledge her presence even though I could feel her eyes on me, could feel the tension in the air the moment she realized I had returned.

She stood near the entrance hall, pretending she was just passing by.

Pretending she wasn’t waiting.

Pretending she wasn’t hoping.

I walked past her.

Straight through the hall.

Straight toward my study.

I didn’t owe her anything.

Not a glance.

Not a word.

Not even anger.

Anger would mean she still mattered in ways she shouldn’t.

Behind me, I felt her stiffen.

I felt the shift in her breath.

But I didn’t stop.

I pushed open the doors to my study and stepped inside, closing them firmly behind me.

Caleb was already there.

He stood near the window, arms crossed, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He turned the moment he sensed me, studying my face the way he always did when he knew something was wrong.

And something was very wrong.

“She’s gone,” I said immediately.

Caleb straightened slightly. “Gone?”

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the room slowly. The walls felt too close. The air felt heavy.

“I went back to Rose’s house,” I said. “Her scent was faint. Like she hasn’t been there for days.”

Caleb frowned.

“But the house?” he asked.

“Intact,” I replied. “Nothing disturbed. No signs of travel. No packed things. No struggle.”

That was the part that unsettled me the most.

Rose wasn’t careless.

If she left, there would have been signs.

But there were none.

“It was like she vanished,” I said quietly. “Like someone lifted her out of her life without leaving a trace.”

Caleb was silent for a moment.

Then he sighed and moved closer, leaning against the desk.

“Adrian,” he said calmly, “don’t spiral.”

I stopped pacing and looked at him.

“She could be at a friend’s place,” he continued. “Humans disappear for days all the time. They don’t live like we do.”

I clenched my jaw.

“She didn’t smell scared before,” I said. “Now her scent feels… wrong.”

Caleb watched me carefully.

That was when he changed the topic.

“Matthew sent word,” he said.

I looked at him sharply.

“The ritual is set for the next blue moon,” he continued. “One week from now.”

My hands curled into fists.

One week.

Everything was closing in too fast.

Lucy.

The council.

The eclipse.

The war.

And now Rose disappearing without a trace.

“Prepare yourself,” Caleb added gently. “Whether you want to or not.”

I let out a humorless laugh.

“I’ll go with the plan,” I said. “I’ll flow with whatever madness they’ve created.”

Caleb’s brows knitted together.

“And after?” he asked.

I didn’t hesitate.

“After the ritual,” I said. “After the fight. I’m done.”

He stiffened.

“I’ll step away,” I continued. “From the council. Go on vacation from everything.”

Caleb stepped forward.

“Then take care of yourself first,” he said firmly. “You’re not a weapon, Adrian.”

I looked away.

Because right now, I felt like nothing else.

Caleb’s POV

When Adrian walked in, I knew instantly.

The way his shoulders were tense.

The way his eyes didn’t settle.

The way his aura felt restless, sharp, unstable.

Something had gone wrong.

“She’s gone,” he said.

I didn’t interrupt him. I let him speak.

Rose.

Of course it was Rose.

He talked about the scent. About the house. About the silence that shouldn’t exist.

I listened carefully.

And I worried.

Because this wasn’t obsession.

This was instinct.

And instincts like this were never wrong.

Still, I had to ground him.

Humans moved differently.

They vanished without warning.

They lived messy, unpredictable lives.

I reminded him of that.

Then I told him about the ritual.

One week.

His reaction told me everything.

He was exhausted.

Burned out.

Barely holding himself together.

When he said he wanted to leave after everything, my chest tightened.

He had carried too much for too long.

“You’re not a weapon,” I told him.

But I wasn’t sure he believed me.