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My chest starts to ache again, and my eyes get a little hot. With some embarrassed horror, I realize that I’m crying. Not that it matters. There’s only Gerald here to see it.

Pressing my hands over my face, I let it out. Ugly, heavy sobs rip through my chest. Gerald nudges me a few times, but I can’t really do anything to stop the grief crashing through me, and after a moment, he gets bored and wanders off.

For some reason, that helps ease the pain. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s so unbothered. Maybe it’s because I want to give the same amount of fucks he does about anything other than rearranging the couch and tables.

The thought makes me smile despite the tears still rolling down my cheeks, and I swipe them away with an impatient hand as I stand up. I fill my lungs with the sweet, Eretharian air, then roll my shoulders back.

‘Enough,’ I sign to myself. Because it is. I’m allowed to be pissed about my situation. I’m allowed to want to head back to Earth and find Zane and clock him square in his fucking mouth for being such an absolute piece of shit.

I’m allowed to miss my friends and my family because they’re my everything, and being told I can’t see them if I want to live is the worst punishment I can think of.

But I’m not going to let that ruin me. I’m going to get through it with as much patience as I can, and I’m going to figure out whatever the fuck this thing is between Eissa and me while I do.

Shaking off the last of the melancholy, I make my way down the hall and decide to snoop in Eissa’s bedroom. He’s never let me in there, but now he’s gone and can’t keep me away.

I push the door open and step inside, feeling his essence. My eyes swivel around the room, taking in a bed that is very different from mine. Mostly because it’s covered in some kind of plant, like what is on the sofa. My hand runs over it, and I feel it reach out and coddle me, almost like a hug.

I gently pull my hand away and move over to his wardrobe, letting my fingers graze the carved wood. It’s a faint pink, like the trees in the forest, and the stone knobs produce a slight vibration when I touch them.

It’s odd.

Leaning down, I press my ear to the wood and touch them again to see if I can pick up any sound, but it’s too low for me to be able to hear it.

When I pull the door open, I get a whiff of something very distinctly Eissa. I don’t think that Vyastil use cologne, but their scents are very different. Or, at least, Eissa’s is. I’ve never noticed that about Rathyn and Cielo, but I could be blindfolded and pick Eissa out of a crowd.

It’s probably something I should give a long, hard think about, but my brain is too tired to really care. Instead, I paw through his linen tunics and eventually pull one out and wrap it around me.

It’s pathetic, the way being surrounded by his scent is comforting, but I don’t care. It’s not like he’s here to mock me for it. The fabric is light and also unusual because he’s the only Vyastil I know who covers up most of his body.

All the others prefer to be naked if they can, or their tunics are short and sheer.

Hell, even Quilliyn, who seems to have developed a taste for Lycra, wears only gym shorts and nothing else.

It figures my monster would be as bizarre as I am.

I close the wardrobe, glance around one more time, and find nothing of interest, so I let the tunic sleeves fall past my fingers as I head down the hall, coming to a sudden stop when I realize there’s a door I never noticed before. It almost blends into the wall. I touch the stone knob, and it vibrates like the wardrobe handles. I let my palm hold it for a moment, then I give it a twist, and to my surprise, it opens.

For some reason, it seems like a space that should be locked, but there’s nothing special about it when I take it all in. It’s large—a window letting in the natural, hazy Eretharian light. It looks like storage—several trunks stacked against the wall, and what I think is a human bed, though it’s turned up on its side and covered by a long sheet.

Something about this room feels heavy. I don’t quite know how to explain it. I should probably leave, but I’m bored and lonely, and I know Eissa isn’t going to volunteer information, even if I ask.

So, I’m going to have to play spy. Again.

I close the door behind me so Gerald can’t come in and start rearranging this space, then walk over to the first trunk to the right of the window. It looks old. Like the stuff people used in movies back in the nineteen-twenties. It has a leather strap over the top, and a buckle holding it shut.

I crouch down next to it and work the clasp. It opens with just a little pressure at the seam. Inside is a pile of human clothes. Jeans, T-shirts, a couple of mesh crop tops that I haven’t seen in at least a decade at the clubs.

This must belong to him—the mysterious human who came before me. The one who likely made Eissa as reluctant to give in to me as he has been.

Everything smells a little like stale air and something else. Something I recognize but I can’t put my finger on. I dig around a little more, but there’s only a pair of shoes and then—wrapped in a pair of boxers—a bottle of something.

Cologne, I realize as I unravel it. It’s a tiny, opaque bottle with a logo I’ve only seen on retro nineties Instagram posts. CK One. Something inside me shifts—a hard jolt because I had just graduated high school when the portals were first announced to the public.

And okay, maybe this person—this human who had once belonged to Eissa—was just really into vintage things, but I’m starting to think not. I’m starting to think what I know about the portals, the Vyastil, and human involvement is way off.

I take a breath and move to the next trunk. Inside is more clothing—coats and hoodies. I can’t really date them, but beneath the pile this time is a blue folder. I flip open the top, and sitting in the little pocket is a stack of photos.

My eyes immediately fix on the person center frame in all of them. He has dark hair, honey-brown eyes with a dark ring around his irises, a full smile, and dimples in each cheek.