She left.
Rory had left.
The thought struck Vincent like a bolt of lightning, instantly shattering the last thread of his reason.
The room was deathly quiet, so quiet he could hear the sound of his own heart plunging into an endless abyss.
Only last night, the air had still been thick with warmth and intimacy. Now, all that remained was the hollow emptiness she had left behind.
Vincent slowly sat up. The chain attached to the headboard rattled harshly with his movement, the grating metallic sound mocking the absurdity of his current situation.
Lowering his gaze, he stared at the discarded chain lying across the bed.
Then, inch by inch, he lifted his head and looked around the empty room.
The firebird eyes that had still seemed gentle beneath the morning light moments ago were now completely devoid of warmth. Nothing remained within them except an endless darkness, thick and bottomless as ink.
Liar.
What fairness?
What gift?
Every word had been fake.
