Chapter 3

The nightmares started first.

I’d wake up sweating, my wolf pacing under my ribs, dreaming Alfred had Wanda’s arm around his waist as he told me, with calm disgust:

“Don’t come looking for me again.”

I began to have trouble falling asleep for more than four hours.

Soon, I graduated.

I moved to Seattle, chasing jobs, chasing him, chasing a future I thought we shared.

I bombed interview after interview. Final rounds. Smiles. “We’ll be in touch.”

Then silence.

Alfred said, “Let’s travel. Clear your head.”

A few days before, I’d seen an article on his phone about Switzerland tourism, and hope lit up like a match.

I made plans. I picked up extra shifts.

And then, one night, walking home, I realized someone was following me.

A man loitering near the convenience store. The same figure trailing me two blocks back.

My heart hammered. I called Alfred.

Once. No answer.

Twice. No answer.

Third time—he picked up, impatient.

“Les,” he said quickly. “My battery’s dying. I’ll call you later.”

Then the line cut.

I got home shaking. Scrolled mindlessly, trying to calm down.

And there it was—Wanda’s post:

Shout-out to a certain photographer who drained his phone battery for me~

A photo of old European stone—arched windows, winter lights, bright smile, snow caught in her hair.

Location tag: Zürich

My chest hollowed out.

Alfred called late that night like nothing had happened.

“Yes,” he said when I asked. “I’m in Switzerland. I’ll be back this weekend.”

“No, it’s not a vacation,” he added quickly. “It’s a collaboration. Dr. Hart’s here. Two postdocs too. It’s work.”

I stared at my ceiling and felt… nothing.

Not rage.

Not tears.

Just a hollow fatigue, like someone had scooped out my chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

He sighed like I was difficult for wanting basic respect.

“Because I didn’t want you to overthink,” he said. “You weren’t always like this, Les.”

Seven thousand miles. Fourteen hours of time difference.

We didn’t speak for days.

Then I got an email that changed everything:

An offer.

A rotational management program at my company—one year overseas, fast-track promotion.

I called Alfred, excitement bubbling up.

His voice was teasing.

“Finally cooled off? Decided to call me again?”

“I’m boarding,” he said. “I got you a souvenir. A jacaranda crystal globe. Took forever.”

I went to the airport to tell him in person.

And saw Wanda sitting on her suitcase, tugging his sleeve.

“Your exchange application is done, right?” she said, pouting. “Let me see it. Please?”

The crystal globe in Alfred’s hand looked suddenly less like a gift.

And more like a warning.