The Glass Veil

The Altar of Spirits

Harry's POV.

A sudden, urgent knocking jerks me awake. I sit bolt upright, the blankets sliding down to my waist as Matthew storms into the room, flicking on the harsh lights. "Christ," I groan, shielding my eyes from the glaring brightness. "What's going on?" My voice is thick with sleep, puzzled at his intrusion at this ungodly hour.

"Where's Anastasia?" he asks directly.

"In bed?" I reply, my voice muffled as I reach out to feel her side of the bed. "Anna?" Her name slips out as I encounter nothing but cold, empty sheets. Alarm prickles up my spine as I quickly throw off the covers and swing my legs out of bed, facing Matthew with a growing sense of unease. "Anastasia?" I call out again, pushing open the bathroom door and flicking on the light. The room is empty.

I spin around to face Matthew, my confusion turning into worry. "Where is she? What's happening?"

"That's why I'm here. She's supposed to be with you."

"But she was," I insist, memories of her sleeping peacefully next to me an hour ago still vivid in my mind. "Could she have gone to her mother's room?"

Matthew shakes his head. "No, the Queen is asleep, and Oliver has been guarding her door."

Frantically, I grab my phone from the nightstand, dialling Anastasia's number as panic sets in. One, two, three rings... then straight to voicemail. Damn it.

"Get someone to check the cameras. Monitor every room," I command, quickly pulling on a jacket and shoes. I toss my phone to Matthew. "Use the tracking app; it should show her last known location. Might help us find her in this damn palace."

"Harry, she left the palace."

"What?" I stare at him, my heart skipping a beat.

"She left. Her phone has her at a club."

"A club?" I repeat, incredulity mixing with a surge of adrenaline. I shake my head, trying to process this. "What do we do now?"

"You're the head of security," I remind him pointedly. "Why are you asking me?"

"She is your girlfriend—" he starts, and I cut him off with an impatient gesture.

"I want the palace on lockdown. No one in or out without our say-so. You handle the protocols; I'm going to find her," I declare, grabbing my keys, wallet, and pistol from the bedside drawer. "Keep the press out of this, and have half the security team ready to move out. We need to secure the area and find her."

"Should we keep calling her?"

I shake my head. "No. She won't answer."

"Do you think she's spiralling?"

"Possibly," I admit, the thought tightening my chest. "You would be too if you were being handed straight jackets."

It's unlike Anastasia to sneak off like this, especially not through the palace tunnels at night. She's clever and knows them well—well enough to navigate them unseen. The question now is why she left, and what happened to make her take such a drastic step. My worry for her safety grows as we prepare to step out into the night, uncertain of what we might find.

** ** **

The club is a cacophony of flashing neon lights and pulsating beats, a sensory overload assaulting my every sense. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol, and the crowd moves like a single organism, bodies undulating rhythmically to the thumping bass that seems to echo through the very walls. It's the kind of place that feels alive, each pulse of the strobe lights casting everyone in sharp, surreal relief before plunging them back into shadow. People shout to be heard over the music, their laughter and screams mingling with the sounds of clinking glasses and the occasional clatter of a dropped bottle.