Ten minutes passed as Irene stared at the door leading to her apartment. The frame black against the light gray of the door, a silver polished door handle at the midsection. She held her purse tighter, fearing that a resident would snatch it away; the cursed dagger snugly covered in black anti-magic cloth within.

Was he home, was he not home? Her smartphone showed fifteen minutes before midnight. She locked the screen before dropping it into her jacket pocket. Well, now or never.

She grasped the handle, turning it sharply. Her fears and worries absent as she strode in with conviction. The living room lights spilled into the entrance and low music played—Rickter was home.

Removing her coat, she hung it in the entrance closet. She placed her purse atop a nearby table and dropped her keys into a small glass dish. Taking in a deep breath of air, she turned ready to face him.

He sat on their gray plush sofa, a glass of red wine on the end table. Classical music played quietly in the background, on a piano solo. She stared at him, his eyes closed and his head tilted with his chin in the air. Exhaustion marked his face in fine lines along with dark circles beneath his eyes.

Her boots clicked on the hardwood floor as she neared him. The remnants of their earlier fight erased, only the missing place on the mantle a final reminder.

He opened his heavy eyelids from the sound, turning his head to face her approach. "You're home late," he said calmly before sitting up and sending a hand through his messy hair.

She dropped into the adjacent armchair. "I was out with Thea all night. Spending some girl time. Shouldn't you be asleep?" Her gaze was pinpointed on his face, waiting to dissect his reaction.

"I was up waiting for you."

Laying her arms on the soft cushioning of her chair, she leaned back. Her eyes still trained on his slight movements. "Hmm. Why?"

Rickter sat forward, his hands together. He released a sigh, choosing his next words carefully. "I'm sorry Irene. For forgetting our anniversary. It's been five years already and I've been so busy."

Her stone mask was slipping, he looked sincere, and she wanted to forgive. To move on and forget this pointless fight. She bit back a smile, her lips twitching from the action. "I see you remembered," she said in a gentle tone.

He scratched the side of his head. "Actually, Lucas reminded me. I don't want to lie to you."

Her vision of forgiveness began to crack, with tiny lines spreading from it. She told Lucas a week ago, making him promise to withhold the news. The vision cracked again. He promised! Her own love didn't remember. Another crack formed in the vision.

She closed her eyes, fearing the rage in them would be seen. The gentleness in her voice disappeared. "And it isn't important to you?"

"Of course it's important. Why wouldn't it be? But work's been hectic, it's hard to remember."

She was ready to retort, to rush ahead. But her heart felt like lead, heavy and stiff. "I see..."

"Irene? Is everything okay?" he asked with concern lacing his words.

She opened her eyes slightly, her eyelids hiding half her sight. This felt all wrong. He wormed his way out of the dilemma, yet again. Didn't he understand that taking the easy route never solved the underlying problem? Their relationship felt empty.

"Irene?"

She closed her eyes again, fearing that tears would fall. "Everything's fine," she murmured weakly.

"Okay. Good night then." She heard him get to his feet, his steps heavy on the floor. He released a yawn while still in earshot.

She was unable to hold back her bitter feelings. The vision of forgiveness shattered completely into pieces. Matched only by the stream of tears that poured down her face. She covered her mouth, wanting to hide any noise that tried to escape. Where was he—the man she loved? Only the outer husk of a man was left behind.

She calmed herself, using the hand on her face to wipe the tears away. The conversation reconfirmed her resolution. She would find him. If she couldn't rekindle his passion, then as Blanche said, she'd rather watch the world burn.

It was now or never, to set her plan into motion.