The café had never felt this empty.
Oryn stood near the entrance, hands deep in his coat pockets, the familiar scent of espresso and warm pastries wrapping around him. It should have been comforting. Instead, it felt like an echo of something he could no longer reach.
He hadn't meant to come back. Not really. But his feet had carried him here anyway, drawn by some quiet, stubborn hope.
The bookshelf stood untouched, its usual charm now overshadowed by absence. His absence. Hers. Theirs.
Still, he checked. His fingers traced the space where the book had been, the spot cool and undisturbed. Gone.
Just like her.
Oryn exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. It shouldn't matter. He had known—had felt it the moment he saw the empty space. But seeing it was different.
He turned toward the counter, and before he could think better of it, he asked, "The book that was here… did someone take it?"
The barista, the same one from before, glanced up mid-cleaning, her expression careful.
"Yeah," she said after a moment. "She took it."
She.
He swallowed against the sudden weight in his throat. "When?"
"About a week ago," she said, eyeing him. "Right before closing."
Oryn nodded, but his body felt distant, as if his bones were hollowed out. He should have come sooner. He should have—
No.
It wouldn't have changed anything.
His fingers curled into his palm. "Did she say anything?"
The barista hesitated, then shrugged. "No. But she looked like she wanted to."
Oryn's jaw tightened. He glanced back at the shelf one last time, as if hoping—stupidly, uselessly—that the book would somehow be there again. That this could be undone.
But it wasn't.
And it wouldn't be.
The weight of it settled into his chest, unfamiliar and unbearable.
For the first time, he walked out of Café Amour without looking back.