No, that wasn’t her breathing. And there was another smell, one that was oddly comforting, in its way, but not nearly as welcoming as Olivia’s. Gabriel opened one eye to find himself on the edge of the bed, looking down at Lloergan. The hound lifted her shaggy head and gave him what he presumed was a good morning grunt. He returned it and flipped over, reaching for Olivia, to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her hair and replace the smell of dog with—

His hands touched down on empty sheets. He patted them. And then bolted up. He looked in the direction of the hall bathroom, listening for the flush of the toilet or the pad of her feet on the hardwood. When he heard nothing, he patted the bed again, finding her spot cold, and a chill seeped through him.

She left. She woke up in the night and realized she’d made a mistake, and she went to sleep somewhere else.

I’ve lost her.

I always lose her.

Gabriel pressed his palms to his eyelids. Stop that. Just stop that. He knew who he was talking to. Yes, it was partly Gwynn, but it was partly himself, too, that equally endless doubt.

I won’t keep her. Can’t keep her. Never could, and I was a fool to think I could change that.

I was so pleased with myself in that dream, wishing I could give Gwynn some advice. Like the fifteen-year-old boy who has sex for the first time and fancies himself an authority.

Stop. Now.

If Lloergan was here, then Olivia hadn’t gone far. Perhaps the room got too light. Perhaps he’d taken up too much of the bed. Perhaps she’d simply gone downstairs to read. All perfectly rational explanations, but he was still disappointed, as if he’d failed to do something that would have kept her here despite the light or the discomfort or the boredom.

He sat up and looked for his clothing, only to remember they’d shed their clothes in front of the fire. He walked into the hall. The bathroom door stood open, as did the office, both dark inside. He grabbed a pair of shorts from his dresser, pulled them on, and hurried downstairs.

The main level was as silent as the upstairs.

Had Olivia gone for a walk? A jog? He’d have joined her for either, and the fact she’d go alone only bolstered his fear that she needed time to herself. Time to reconsider.

He glanced into the parlor. It was as they’d left it—a tangle of blankets and clothing in front of the now-smoldering fire. He was looking for his shirt when he caught a creak from the kitchen and noticed that the door was closed. He jogged down the hall to throw it open.