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As he rounded the corner into Gate 12, he caught a last glimpse of the woman disappearing into the jetway. His heart, which had been up in his throat since first laying eyes on her, dropped into his stomach heavily, crushing his hope of solving at least one mystery. Now he would never know their connection — where he knew her from, and why she inhabited his every thought, waking and sleeping.
In one last effort, hoping perhaps it might draw her back out of the jetway, he called her name, the only name he knew to call her. “Gem!” he yelled down the ramp, but she didn’t so much as wince with recognition at the sound. Could he be mistaken?
Gryff’s orders lay unopened on the table.
The silent tension caused Gem to bite her lip. She tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear and shifted uneasily in the chair. Wide-eyed, Gryff sat stiffly beside her, regarding the envelope. He was like a statue—hands on his knees—staring interminably at the table.
Finally, Gem cleared her throat. Gryff jolted as if in a daze and turned to look at her. A look of uncertainty hung in his eyes. She swallowed the dry, sticky taste in her mouth and reached for his hand. It felt cold…clammy. Gem could feel the faint tremor of his fear radiating through his fingers. She took Gryff's hand between her own and squeezed, trying to infuse heat and reassurance at the same time.
"Sometimes they come back," Gem's voice was barely a whisper. It was a feeble attempt, but she was grasping at straws here.
They don't come back. Never whole, anyway.