The sun filtered in through half-closed curtains, casting pale stripes of light across the pristine white sheets.
Callum stirred.
His body ached with a strange heaviness, like his limbs remembered something his mind didn't.
He blinked slowly and turned to his side.
And there she was, Seraphine.
She lay with her back to him, hair spilled across the pillow in effortless waves. The sheet traced the line of her shoulder blades, her breathing soft and even. She smelled of quiet rain and warmed linen. He inhaled again, and realized—
He didn't reek of alcohol.
He wasn't in the clothes he left in.
His skin carried faint notes of sandalwood and citrus—her soap.
Callum stared at her, his mind replaying the yesternight. He had been drunk, but unlike most people, he could recall his drunken moments with surprising clarity
He gently sat upright.
Her hands had cleaned him. Changed him. Brought him back.
His fingers curled lightly into the edge of the sheet.
He stared at her for a long moment, the curve of her back, the soft rise and fall of her breath... committing her every detail to memory.
Something tightened in his chest.
Then he slipped from the bed without a word.
---
The bathroom mirror reflected not a broken him, nor incomplete him.
It's just not him.
Water rushed from the faucet as he washed his face with sharp and cold water, a fleeting solace amid the haze. Then his eyes caught every detail: a dish holding a sandalwood soap, a bottle of citrus shampoo placed beside his own, her robe casually draped next to his towel. In the closet, her dresses hung neatly beside his shirts; her jewelry case, her perfumes, with each piece of him paired with things unmistakably hers.
She had moved in.
Her things were everywhere waving traces of her presence into the space that had once belonged only to him.
His lips twitched faintly before he looked away.
Then he shut the door behind him, walked out, and left.
---
That night, Callum didn't return.
Again.
But this time, neither did she.
By noon, Seraphine was already gone with her father's car rolling past the gates of Avienne Hall.
She didn't leave a note.
She packed only what she needed, taking the essentials and little else.
Yet as the door closed, she knew she had left the smallest part of herself behind.
It was not in any single object nor in those still walls. Rather, in the spaces she had owned and the routines she had woven into his days.
She left with a hopeful desire.
---
At the Elion Military Complex, there were no glass chandeliers or velvet couches. Only cement, steel, and silence sharpened by discipline.
Seraphine wore her uniform like a second skin.
Days passed in formation drills, map evaluations, and briefing audits. Her father left her alone, as if knowing not to ask. As if he too heard the ticking silence inside her.
She took her meals properly now.
Her comrades noticed the change immediately. They stared whenever she sat down to eat, bewildered by the sight as before, she often skipped meals.
She treated her wounds promptly now, too. Gone were the days when she would spend hours bleeding before finally tending to herself.
Even her cadets noticed the difference. She dismissed them earlier than usual, no longer lingering after training had ended.
Instead, she found herself retreating to her private quarters more often, drawn there by reasons they cannot decipher.
She answered questions only when they were tactical. She no longer stays for conversations.
But she never forgot to call Jonas to fetch Callum. She never forget to call Aunt Olive, the senior maid to ask how is he doing.
Her aides noticed her growing quiet.
"Should I prepare your return schedule, sir?" one dared to ask.
"Not yet," she said.
Somehow, she hopes her absence will heal him.
---
Ninety-three days passed.
Rain tapped lightly on the expansive windows of the command office, a gentle counterpoint to the steady hum of unfinished business. Seraphine had just stepped out of the evening simulation.
A while ago, she was in a session filled with battles fought in virtual corridors when her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. The screen flashed an unknown number, and for a moment, she hesitated, almost letting it fade into background noise.
Almost.
"Is this Elion's War-master General Seraphine?" a measured voice asked.
Sera answered with a controlled "Yes."
"General Elion, this is St. Ives Hospital. Your husband, Mr. Callum Virell, has been admitted."
There was a pause.
"...What happened?" Her voice rose, laced with the sudden urgency of a command that demanded attention.
"He was struck by a motor vehicle outside a downtown establishment. Witnesses noted he appeared intoxicated. He's sustained a dislocated shoulder and minor internal bruising. He's stable, but heavily sedated."
"Okay, I'll be there."
Another pause, heavy with implication.
"Also," the nurse continued gently, "he keeps muttering your daughter Dahlia's name, ma'am. It might be best if you come with her."
In that instant, the world seemed to shatter into silence. Her heart stuttered, as if it had stopped altogether.
Then, almost in a whisper borne of fragile resolve, she answered, "Understood. Thank you, ma'am."
Seraphine ended the call, the quiet resilience in her tone belying the storm that churned beneath. Amid the soft patter of rain and the echo of distant orders, she gathered herself to face the day, determined to navigate the fragile intersection of duty, love, and the unexpected price that came with them.
---
St. Ives Hospital glowed pale against the night sky. Its emergency wing was quiet, nurses walking in muted strides, the scent of antiseptic clinging to every corridor.
Her boots echoed against the tiles paired with someone's shoe sounds.
Her uniform was still damp from the rain.
Her braid was loose while her company's hair was tied high.
Her expression unreadable.
But her heart raced like a warning drum, every beat faster than the last.
She didn't ask which room.
She already knew.
And in that silence, walking between fluorescent lights and closed doors, something inside her clenched tight.
... something that had nothing to do with duty.
but everything to do with him.