Amara POV
Days blurred into nights, and nights into restless dawns. The palace grew colder without Chris—his presence was a heat that filled every corner, every shadow. Now, the halls echoed with silence, and Amara's steps felt hollow on the marble floors.
She paced her chamber, hands clenched tightly, trying to suppress the growing storm inside her. Every minute without word, without sign, twisted a deeper knot of worry and frustration. The guards whispered rumors; some said he'd been taken, others that he'd vanished by choice. None of it settled the ache.
She pulled out her communicator, fingers hovering over the call button to Classic. He was the closest to Chris, the silent supporter, and yet even he had no answers. The silence from the empire's core unnerved her more than any enemy ever could.
The weight of leadership pressed down. She had to hold the empire steady, protect Chris's legacy, keep their enemies at bay—but how could she stand firm when the man she loved was lost to her?
She sank onto the edge of the bed, exhaustion hitting like a tidal wave. Tears slipped free this time—quiet, unashamed.
Then she steadied herself. Wiped the tears. No more weakness.
She was Amara Blackwood. Wife of the supreme ruler. The empire depended on her now.
And she would find him.
No matter what it took.