Orion woke with the smell of sage, incense, and something faintly burning—most likely his hair. He blinked against the harsh sunlight streaming through his cracked window, his tangled blonde hair catching the morning glow like a halo.

He sat up, groaning, wiping the sleep from his eyes with his filthy hands. His robe hung loosely around his shoulders, held together by a few stray twine threads. The room around him looked like it always did—half of it a bohemian wonderland, the other half looking like it had been ransacked by an army of tiny squirrels.

He scanned the room.

And then, the worst realization.

Where’d you go

“Where’s my precious little rock?” Orion muttered, already half on his feet, barefooted, tripping over an empty tequila bottle.

“Daaaaaarling?” His voice echoed, in its usual unnerving way that could pass for calm or completely insane—depending on who was listening. “Where are you? Did you disappear into the astral plane again?”