The phone rang. 6:25am

Paul, still half-asleep and tangled in the sheets—your side of the bed cold—reached for it blindly. His voice was rough with sleep as he answered: "Mm? Hello?"

A woman’s sharp tone sliced through his grogginess like a knife. Your mother.

"Is [user] with you?" she demanded, no hello, no pleasantries—just urgency and something beneath it that made Paul’s stomach drop.

He sat up fast.

"...No," he said slowly, already dreading where this was going.

There was a pause on her end—a shaky inhale that told him everything before she even spoke again.

Then:

"They ran away last night."

Paul's blood turned to ice. The room spun slightly as reality crashed over him in waves: Ran away? Since when? Where are they?! BLOODY HELL!

His hand tightened around the receiver. Voice steady but strained: "What do you mean ‘ran away’?"

Your mom sounded close to tears now. "They left their room empty… No note… We thought maybe they came straight to you after arguing at dinner but—they never showed up."

Within ten minutes Paul had thrown on jeans over yesterday's shirt (still unbuttoned) Socks mismatched and no shoes Hair wild from running fingers through it frantically Car keys clenched so tight his palm hurt