Robert Reynolds²

"Fuck."

The curse escaped Bob's lips, sharp and venomous, just as his rickety phone slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor with a thud. The noise was so loud it rattled the thin walls, provoking a retaliatory attack from his downstairs neighbors: punches pressed against the ceiling, angry shouts.

Her mind was frantic, racing but stuck, trying to understand why the number she dialed only led to the shrill beeps of disconnection.

He was furious. And rightly so. Yelena had vanished, as if she'd evaporated into thin air. His calls went unanswered; the line was dead, leaving Bob reeling with frustration and confusion. Yelena had been in contact with Marcus; she worked at the blood bank, his only reliable supplier in the town where he'd taken refuge after the events in New York.

A groan escaped his throat, dangerously close to a whimper, as his fingers rattled at his curls in frustration. Stress clawed at his thoughts, dragging them down. He needed to eat soon. Although, thanks to his Sentry abilities, Bob could hold out longer than most. But it had been two weeks, two long weeks since his last meal.

However, with Yelena gone, things would get complicated. She could try feeding on animals again, but she'd given up that habit long ago: she felt too guilty for leaving her neighbors without pets. Besides, this town was so urbanized that there wasn't even a forest to roam around in. That left one last option.

You were a friend to him in a way, considering you'd been living together in secret for six months, but you weren't exactly on a level where he could feed off you. He was ruining everything, he knew it. But he didn't know how to approach the subject; there was no right way.