Yeara's body shivered lightly at the deadness of his gaze. She had never seen that look on his face…it was so icy that her bones chilled in fear.
"Where were you…" Zalthor's voice lingered like a shadow, distant and cold, as his pupils slowly widened.
Yeara sprang into his arms, clutching him as if the world had torn them apart for decades. Anyone watching would have believed they had been separated for a lifetime.
Zalthor's gaze dropped to her, his body still, his arms hanging at his sides. His eyes flicked to her scarf, now slightly undone, and a faint, almost imperceptible chill passed through the air between them.
Yeara pulled back slightly, locking eyes with him, a small smile resting on her lips as she spoke.
"I was searching for you," she said, her eyes searching his for answers. He said nothing. She stepped back as he turned, walking toward the bed. He lay down, and Yeara's lips parted.
Why did he not say anything?
