“Just useless junk,” I replied, my voice steady.
He didn’t question me further. Instead, he draped an arm over my shoulder, guiding me back toward the apartment.
As the elevator doors closed behind us, I caught a glimpse of the garbage truck pulling up, its mechanical arm lifting the bin and dumping its contents into the compactor. The box was gone.
Ezra didn’t notice my lingering glance. “The place feels emptier,” he commented, looking around as we stepped inside. “Where’s the mug I always use? And the cushions are missing too.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but his phone buzzed with another message. He glanced at it, his face lighting up as he read whatever Lyra had sent. Without a word, he headed to his study, the door clicking shut behind him.
“Cressida,” he called from inside. “I’ve got work to do. Don’t wait up for me.”
I stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the closed door. He hadn’t even looked at me properly since he got back. My chest tightened, but I swallowed the ache and went to the bedroom alone.
As the clock struck midnight, my phone buzzed under my pillow.
“Happy birthday, Cressida!”
The messages flooded in—well wishes from my parents, Dorian, and even a few old friends from the pack. But the one person who should have remembered—the wolf I had spent six years of my life with—hadn’t said a word.
Ezra Silvan had forgotten my birthday entirely.
….
