ANMELDENAvelin POVThe day after the funeral feels worse than the funeral itself because there is nothing left to do, no guests, no voices, no hands on my shoulders telling me to be strong. Just silence. The inn feels too big, too empty, too quiet. I stand in the middle of the dining room and listen. No Father moving in the kitchen, no Shen calling my name, no laughter, no life, only the faint sound of the ocean outside and my own breathing. "I'm still here," I whisper. The words echo back at me, weak and pointless. I move slowly through the inn, touching things without thinking, a chair, a table, the counter where Shen used to stand. My fingers pause there. I can still see him leaning casually, smiling at guests, looking at me like I’m the only person in the room. "Baby," he would say softly. My chest tightens. "Stop," I whisper to myself, but the memories don’t stop. They never do. By afternoon, the village brings food again. They knock gently, speak softly, and stay for a while. Aunt
Leander POV The Voss estate remains as I remember, grand, imposing, untouchable, and entirely unfamiliar. The gates open before the car even stops, security already alerted, as they always are. Nothing here moves without precision. The driveway stretches long and polished, lined with trimmed hedges and stone statues that seem more like warnings than decoration. This place is supposed to feel like home, but it never does. The car halts at the entrance, and my parents are waiting when the doors open. My mother reaches me first, disregarding composure or who might be watching. Her arms wrap around me tightly, almost painfully, as if afraid I might disappear again if she loosens her grip. "Leander," she breathes, her hands checking over my face, shoulders, and arms, verifying, confirming. "You're really here." "I am." My voice is steady, but I don’t feel it. My father steps forward, less emotional, more controlled, yet his eyes betray him. "Welcome home, son," he says, then quickly
Leander POVAcross the penthouse, my mother stands in the doorway to the study longer than she realizes, and by the time I look up, her expression is smooth again. "You should sleep," she says. "I'll sleep when my mind stops trying to crawl out of my skull." Her eyes drift to the ring. "Still looking at that?" "It fits." "So?" "So it belonged to my missing year." I pick it up again. "Somebody put this on me." She says nothing. "Do you know something?" I ask. Too quickly, she answers, "No." I study her face. She has always been elegant under pressure, but she is my mother, and I know when something is being withheld. Before I can push further, she says, "If that year brings complications, I want to understand them before they reach you." I lean back in my chair. "That sounds very much like yes." Her mouth tightens. "It sounds like a mother being careful." Then she leaves before I can stop her. I sit there long after the door closes. Complications, an interesting word. Not da
Leander POVThe world celebrates my return as I rose from the dead. Maybe I did. For three days, my hospital room has felt less like a place for recovery and more like the center of a storm. Reporters camp outside the building, cameras flash every time a curtain shifts, and news channels repeat the same line over and over — Missing CEO Found Alive. My phone does not stop vibrating. Board members, shareholders, business partners, old rivals pretending to care, all of them desperate to say the right thing now that Leander Voss is alive again. I smile when people enter, shake hands, say thank you, say I'm recovering well, and say it's good to be back. And every word feels like a lie, because I am back, but something is wrong. Something is missing, not a small thing, not a detail, not some useless piece of forgotten time I can shrug off and move on from. An entire year has gone by. Not blurred or vague or fragmented the way ordinary forgetting works, simply absent, like a chapter torn cl
Avelin POVBy the time the doctor says the word hospice, I already know what it means. He doesn't say dying, he doesn't say end, but I hear it anyway. "His heart is too damaged," Dr. Len says gently. "We can keep him comfortable. That's all we can do now." Comfortable, like comfort matters when someone is leaving you. I nod because I don't trust my voice.Father is brought home that same afternoon. The inn feels different the moment he crosses the doorway, quieter, heavier, like the walls already understand what's coming. We set his bed near the window, because he always liked the light, always said it reminded him of my mother. I sit beside him as the sun slowly lowers. His breathing is uneven now, slower, and each breath feels like something he has to work for. But his eyes are still clear, still him. "Avelin," he says softly. "I'm here." I take his hand carefully; it feels thinner than before, colder. "I don't have much time," he says. "Don't say that," I whisper quickly. He
Avelin POVThree days pass, then four, then seven. I stop measuring time by hours because hours are too cruel, each one a promise broken, each one another stretch of space Shen should have crossed to get back to me.The search does not stop, but it changes. The first day is panic. The second is fear. By the third, it becomes routine, and that hurts differently. People ask before leaving their homes if there is any news. They search areas already searched. They bring me food I forget to eat and repeat the same soft lies because none of us know what else to say. Maybe someone picked him up and took him to another town. Maybe he hit his head and forgot where he was. Maybe he's hurt but alive. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I am beginning to hate that word too.Father comes home before the week is over, pale and thinner but alive. That should matter more than it does, and the guilt of that thought cuts through me daily. I sit by his bed, bring his medicine, and help him walk to the window, but part







