CHAPTER 6

By Tuesday evening, Elijah knew he was lying to himself.

He had told himself that it did not matter whether Jaxon came back. He had repeated it in his head throughout the week. He had carried the sentence into board meetings, over spreadsheets, and through phone calls that required his full attention.

It did not matter.

The lie wore thin long before he reached the church.

He walked down the basement stairs with his hands in his coat pockets. The familiar smell of old carpet and stale coffee met him at the bottom. The lights hummed overhead. The circle of chairs waited, half full already.

Margaret sat with her handbag clutched tightly against her side. Her floral dress had faded edges, as if it had seen too many wash cycles and not enough sunlight. Next to her, Sarah held a folded piece of paper in both hands. Her fingers pressed into the creases as if she needed something to grip. Robert sat upright, shoulders square, palms resting on his thighs. Curtis hovered behind his usual chair for a second before sitting with visible reluctance.

Elijah took his usual seat. The chair beside him remained empty.

The wolf inside him paced once, slow and dissatisfied.

He watched the door without meaning to.

“Good evening, everyone,” Dr. Chen said as she entered. She closed the door gently and moved to her seat with a calm, unhurried stride. “Thank you for coming back.”

Her gaze moved around the circle. “Tonight, I would like us to talk about absence. I don't just mean the day you lost someone, but how the empty spaces show up in your days now.”

Margaret’s throat moved as she swallowed. “I will go first,” she said softly.

Dr. Chen nodded. “Whenever you are ready.”

Margaret smoothed her dress, although it did not need smoothing. “I still buy two apples,” she said. “Every time I go to the market, I put two in the bag. My daughter always wanted one as soon as we got home. She used to steal it before I could wash it.” A small, broken smile appeared on her face. “I stand in the kitchen now with two apples in my hand and no one to argue with me about biting into them unwashed.”

The room listened.

“I usually eat one,” she continued. “The other sits on the counter until it goes soft. I tell myself I will stop doing that. I still have not stopped.”

Silence settled gently around her words.

Sarah’s eyes shone. She unfolded the paper in her hands and stared at it as if it might disappear. “My son wrote this list,” she said. Her voice shook. “He called it his ‘future playlist.’ Schools he wanted to apply to, countries he wanted to visit, the name of a dog he wanted to adopt.” She let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “He overdosed before he did any of it. I carry the list in my pocket. I washed it by mistake and taped it back together. I know every word, but I still read it when I feel like I am forgetting him.”

Robert shifted, then spoke with the careful control of someone who had practiced not falling apart in public. “I still set two places at the table,” he said. “Sometimes I catch myself doing it for no reason at all, as if my hands have memories that my brain refuses to accept.” He looked at his fingers. “I sit across from an empty chair and pretend he is just late. It is ridiculous. I know that, but I do it anyway.”

Curtis stared at the floor. His jaw clenched. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded rough. “My brother’s phone number is still the first one in my contacts,” he said. “I have not deleted it. I tried once. I could not press the button. So I still have that number that goes nowhere.” He swallowed. “Some nights I dial it anyway, just to listen to the recording tell me the person cannot be reached. It hurts. It keeps hurting, but I keep doing it.”

Dr. Chen’s voice was soft but steady. “Thank you,” she said. “Absence can be as physical as presence. It can live in empty chairs, in uneaten food, in numbers we do not delete.”

Elijah understood that more than he wanted to admit.

His penthouse still contained drawers where Elena’s things had once rested. The drawers were empty now, but the space where her hairbrush had sat still felt occupied in his mind. The bed was enormous enough for two, yet he never slept on her side.

The wolf moved closer to the surface.

Jaxon’s chair remained empty beside him. The absence felt like a fact the entire room had agreed not to mention.

Dr. Chen looked at Elijah. “Would you be willing to share, even a little?” she asked.

His instincts told him to say no. To stay silent and keep everything inside.

He heard himself answer differently.

“There are places I will not touch in my own home,” he said. “Drawers I will not open. A side of the bed I never cross. The room is technically mine, but part of it still feels like it belongs to someone else.” He paused. “I pretend that if I do not disturb those places, something of her might still be there.”

Sarah blinked back tears. Margaret nodded as if she understood exactly.

“The absence feels more solid than anything,” Elijah said quietly.

Dr. Chen watched him with careful eyes. “Thank you, Elijah,” she said.

He looked away.

The door did not open again. No late arrival, no familiar stride, nor storm in human form.

As the session continued, Jaxon’s absence became its own presence.

When the group ended, people rose slowly. Margaret took a second to tuck her scarf securely around her neck. Sarah slid the folded list back into her pocket with a touch that was almost reverent. Robert helped Curtis straighten a tipped-over chair without commenting. There was a tenderness in their movements that had not existed in the prior weeks.

Elijah waited until the room nearly emptied before he stood.

“Elijah,” Dr. Chen called to him.

He turned.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” she asked.

He approached the table where she was organizing her notes. “Yes,” he said.

She studied him with her usual calm. “You seemed more present tonight,” she said. “More involved.”

He almost denied it. Then he remembered his own words from earlier. He had spoken more than he meant to. He had listened more closely than he intended to.

“I listened,” he agreed.

“You also watched the door more than usual,” she added. “Is there a particular reason?”

He held her gaze. “Someone did not show up,” he said.

“Jaxon,” she said. She did not turn it into a question.

“Yes.”

“He is not registered,” she said. “I cannot guarantee he will keep coming back.”

“I know,” Elijah replied.

Her expression softened. “This group can become important to us when we start connecting certain faces to our own healing,” she said. “Sometimes that connection is comforting. Sometimes it is frightening.”

He considered that. “Which one do you think it is for me?” he asked.

“I think you are still deciding,” she said.

He had no answer to that.

“There is nothing wrong with feeling the loss of someone who is still alive,” she added. “Absence can hurt long before there is a grave involved.”

Her choice of words felt too accurate.

He left without responding.

Outside, the night air brushed against his face with a cool, almost cleansing touch. He walked to his car and did not drive away immediately. Instead, he stood beside the door and looked back at the church building.

The wolf spoke first.

He should be here.

“I agree,” Elijah said.

He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The city lights stretched around him as he drove. Buildings rose on either side like silent witnesses. He saw flashes of glass and metal and shadow. The familiar route home blurred until he realized he was not following it.

Instead of heading toward Lunaris Tower, he turned toward the part of the city where people disappeared easily. The bars were louder there. The streets were busier. Neon signs lit doorways to places where names did not matter.

He had no proof that Jaxon would be anywhere nearby. What he had was instinct.

The wolf was very awake now.

He parked on a side street and stepped out.

The smell of exhaust, cheap beer, and the sharp tang of too many people pressed together flooded his senses. Underneath it all, he caught traces of something familiar. Smoke and rain, he followed it.

He passed a small theater with peeling posters. A narrow alley full of overflowing trash bins. A bar with a dying sign that flickered on and off.

Voices spilled onto the sidewalk. Laughter, shouting, and music from a speaker that crackled with overuse.

He did not find Jaxon that night.

He found only echoes.

A flyer on the theater wall listed a performance from months ago. The photo was small and blurred, but Elijah recognized the curve of a smile that did not quite reach the eyes. The name beneath it was not Jaxon Reed.

The wolf bristled.

“He runs from himself,” Elijah murmured.

He stood in front of that fading poster for several seconds before turning away.

When he finally went home, the penthouse felt even emptier than usual.

He stood by the window, looking down at the city that seemed determined to keep moving. The wolf curled tight in his chest, not asleep, not calm.

Absence, he realized, could be as sharp as any physical wound.

He had lost Elena to death.

Now he was beginning to understand that he could lose someone else to distance and fear before anything even started.

The realization unsettled him, but so did the fact that he cared.