The days that followed our argument were eerily quiet. Ciara had disappeared without a trace, and while I tried to convince myself that her absence was a relief, it gnawed at me in ways I wasn't prepared to admit.
It was easier this way, I told myself easier not to have to deal with her constant presence, her overprotectiveness, and the confusing, unwelcome feelings she stirred in me.
I didn't have to face her, and I certainly didn't have to be the one to apologize. I wasn't going to be the one to cave, even if a small, stubborn part of me knew I was the one in the wrong.
But with each passing day, that silence grew heavier. It settled in the pit of my stomach like a weight, tugging at me whenever I wasn't distracted. And the castle, once a sanctuary of routine and predictability, started to feel stifling without her sharp, infuriating presence.
