ROMAN
The silence in my car felt like a living thing as I drove toward the Moonstone Pack territory. In the past month, my conversations with Vanessa had dwindled to brief phone calls that never lasted more than a few minutes.
"Sorry, I'm heading into a meeting."
"Can we talk later? I'm in the middle of something."
"Fabian's fine. I'll have him ready when you pick him up."
Always polite. Always distant. Always an invisible wall between us.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road instead of the gnawing worry in my gut. Something had shifted, and I couldn't pinpoint when or why. After her memories had returned, I thought we were finally moving forward together. Now it felt like we were sliding backward, faster with each passing day.
