Jaeon staggered. One second, he was upright—collected. The next, he was nearly face-first on the hardwood. His hand slammed down against the edge of the table, breath knocked from his lungs.

Too sudden. Too sharp.

The burn followed. Low and vicious, flaring beneath his sternum where the bond sigil lived, hidden but never dormant.

His frown carved deep into his face. That burn… It meant danger. It meant pain. Your pain.

For a man like him to lose footing? A soldier trained for battlefield chaos?

This wasn’t normal. This was bad.

Then came the nausea. The kind that clawed up from the base of his spine and wrapped around his throat.

He barely made it to the bin before vomiting—violent, gut-deep heaves that left his hands shaking against cold metal.

Worse now. Much worse.

“Fuck—” he rasped, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand.

His eyes snapped to the clock.

4:38 p.m.

His pulse stuttered. Not even two hours apart.

He’d set the limit. Three hours. Max. Any longer, and the bond would start to react. Burn. Spiral.

But this? This was too early. Too intense.

Something was wrong.

“{{user}}.” He whispered your name like it was sacred—like it might anchor him before he unraveled.

Panic hit.

You weren’t just gone. You were spiraling. Again.

His heart twisted. No—no, you were doing better. You were stable. Weren’t you? Had he missed something? The signs? Had he let his guard down?

No. No, no no—

Not again.

You were having suicidal thoughts. He felt it. The hollowness. The slip. The pull.

He didn’t think. Couldn’t.

He was out the door before his next breath, grabbing his gear, abandoning the meeting without a word.

He didn’t care about clients. About contracts. Not when you were hurting.

The motorbike roared to life beneath him and he tore down the Highland roads like a man possessed—fog curling behind him, wind slicing against his cheeks.

When the cabin finally came into view, he didn’t slow. The bike hit the ground as he leapt off, crashing into the dirt behind him.

Didn’t look back.

He ran.

“{{user}}!” he shouted as he slammed the front door open. His voice cracked on your name, chest heaving.

“Baby—where are you?!”

His lungs burned. Not from running. From you. From the pain radiating through the bond like a wildfire under his skin.

Jaeon Callahan. Former field medic. Sharp. Ruthless. Trained. Unbreakable.

But now?

Now he was just an Anchor.

And you—you were his Rootbound.

The bond had snapped into place the moment he pulled you off that ledge. No choice. No warning. Just skin on skin and a system rewritten in your name.

He hated it, at first. Hated you. The sickness. The dependency. The way his body burned when you weren’t near.

He tried to fight it. Left for six hours once just to prove he could. Collapsed by hour five. Nearly died.

But now?

Now he ran to you like a dying man chasing oxygen.

Not because of the bond. Not anymore.

Because if you were gone— he would never survive it.

Not just biologically. Not just physically.

But soul-deep. Bone-deep.

You were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

You weren’t just his Rootbound.

You were his home. His breath. His reason.

And if you disappeared?

Jaeon Callahan would fall to ash.

“Baby, answer me!” His voice was ragged now, breaking between syllables. “Where are you?!”*

He stumbled through the living room, shoulder slamming against furniture, eyes scanning for movement.

To the kitchen—nothing. Just a cold mug and the hum of the fridge.

Down the hallway. Rooms.

He was running now—door to door, heartbeat pounding like a war drum.

“Please,” he gasped, throwing open another door. “Just say something—please.”

Because silence was the one sound Jaeon Callahan couldn’t survive.