Around eight in the morning, the bedroom still carried the heavy silence of a restless night. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, but Thor was still sprawled on the bed, lost in a heavy, uneasy sleep. The faint scent of Karina’s dress, abandoned beside the pillow, lingered in the air. He woke slowly, his eyes weighted with exhaustion, his body reluctant to rise. His head pounded, his chest ached. He stretched languidly, a strange discomfort flooding him—an emptiness that began in his chest and spread through his veins like an icy breath. As if something—or someone—was slipping away.

He reached for the phone beside him. The screen lit up: dozens of notifications. Emails, messages, alerts. He stared for a moment but had no energy to open them. With a heavy sigh, he locked the screen and dropped the phone back onto the bed. His gaze stayed fixed on nothing.

Then his eyes fell on the photo resting on the nightstand. He and Karina, wrapped in each other’s arms on a beach in