Chapter 8: 8

Tristan barely slept that night. He paced the room like a restless shadow, wearing grooves into the floor with each hour that passed. His thoughts tore through memories, searching desperately for something anything that could explain where he had gone wrong, how he had missed every sign of her suffering. Every part of the bedroom was a graveyard of her presence: her well-worn books stacked neatly by the bedside table, her hairbrush s ll tangled with strands of her dark hair, the so blanket...