The note left on the obsidian desk was short, written in Vane's sharp, authoritative hand:
I have business that requires my personal touch. Do not leave the grounds. Do not answer the gates. I will return when the debt is buried.
No location. No phone calls. No timeline. Vane had vanished into the shadows he usually commanded, leaving Ren alone in a house that felt suddenly, terrifyingly hollow.
The silence of the estate was a physical weight. Ren wandered the halls, his fingers constantly ghosting over the silver thorn in his ear. Without Vane's heavy presence, the air felt thin, lacking the electric charge that kept Ren's pulse racing. He found himself standing in Vane's study, breathing in the fading scent of cedarwood and tobacco, a desperate, shameful craving settling deep in his marrow.
He was a man who had been marked by a god, only to be left in an empty temple.
"Ren? I made tea."
Ren turned to find Julian standing in the doorway. He looked better—rested, almost hopeful. The vacant look in his eyes from the attic had been replaced by a frantic sort of determination. He was dressed in a soft cream sweater, looking like the boy Ren was supposed to have married.
"Julian. You should be resting."
"I've rested enough," Julian said, stepping into the room. He ignored the way Ren was hovering near Vane's chair. He set the tray down on the coffee table. "He's gone, Ren. For the first time since we met, he's actually gone. We can breathe."
Ren sat across from him, but his heart felt like a lead weight. Julian talked. He talked about books, about the garden, about the life they could have if they just pretended the rest of the world didn't exist. He reached across the table, taking Ren's hand.
"I missed you," Julian whispered, his blue eyes searching Ren's. "Even when we were in the same room, I felt like you were a thousand miles away. Let's go for a walk in the conservatory. The orchids are blooming."
Ren let Julian lead him. He let Julian wrap a scarf around his neck. He even let Julian lean his head on his shoulder as they sat among the humid, floral air of the glass house.
But Ren felt nothing.
Julian's touch was like a breeze—pleasant, light, and entirely forgettable. It didn't burn. It didn't demand. It didn't leave a mark. As Julian whispered plans for a dinner he wanted to cook, Ren found himself staring at the iron gates in the distance, praying for the sight of a black sedan.
It's been days since Vane left to fight a war
"I Need your presence"
"I-I Miss you.."
The craving had turned into a fever. Ren couldn't sleep. Every creak of the floorboards made him bolt upright, hoping to see the silhouette of a man who didn't care about "tea" or "orchids."
Julian was trying too hard. He had organized a movie night in the private theater, filling the room with Ren's favorite snacks. He sat close, his arm draped over Ren's shoulders, his fingers tracing the line of Ren's arm.
"It's nice, isn't it?" Julian murmured, his voice thick with hope. "The peace?"
"It's quiet," Ren said, his voice flat.
"Ren..." Julian turned, his face inches from Ren's. He looked desperate to be loved. "I know he did something to you. I know he's... he's a lot. But I'm your husband. I can make you happy if you just let me in."
Julian leaned in to kiss him. It was a soft, sweet kiss—the kind of kiss a boy gives his first love.
Ren didn't pull away, but he didn't lean in. He felt a cold, hollow pity for Julian. Behind his closed eyes, he wasn't seeing the boy. He was seeing the Master. He was remembering the way Vane's hands felt—rough, possessive, and absolute. He was remembering the way Vane didn't ask for permission; he took what was his.
Julian pulled back, his expression crumbling. He saw it. He saw the way Ren's heart didn't beat for him. "You're waiting for him," Julian whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "Even after everything he's done... you're craving him."
"Julian, it's not that simple," Ren started.
"It is!" Julian stood up, his voice cracking.
"He's a monster, Ren! He's out there somewhere, probably killing that man from the attic, and you're sitting here mourning his absence like he's a saint!"
"He's the only one who doesn't lie to me about what I am!" Ren snapped, standing up to face him.
"Then what are you?" Julian asked quietly.
The silence that followed was jagged. Julian backed away, looking at Ren as if he were a stranger. "You're not the boy I fell for. He's turned you into something else. You're just like him now."
Julian turned and fled the room, leaving Ren alone in the dark theater.
Ren sank back into the seat, his hands shaking. He reached up, touching the silver thorn in his ear until the sharp point drew a tiny bead of blood. He welcomed the sting. It was the only thing in this house that felt real.
Where are you? Ren thought, staring into the darkness. Where are you, and why haven't you come back for me?
The week was almost over. The "First Debt" was still out there, still tormenting him, guess this is what happens when you decide to take a loan for the first time without knowing the danger of Debt and Vane was out there maybe fighting for him, He feels tired. But as Ren walked back to the Master's wing, he realized the most terrifying truth of all:
The enemy wasn't the man with the scarred face. The enemy was the silence. And Ren was losing the war.