Bonds at War: The Untouched is Mine novel Chapter 387

Attachment 387 Summary

Five days have passed since a painful confrontation, and Abel has not returned home once. The house feels cold and empty, filled with memories of him that cause deep emotional pain. Tyson remains by the narrator’s side, trying to care for her and ensure she eats, but her despair and sickness deepen without Abel’s presence. Despite Tyson’s efforts, she struggles with her hunger and overwhelming loneliness, repeatedly asking where Abel is, but Tyson remains silent or evasive.

Tensions rise during a breakfast scene where the narrator’s frustration with Tyson grows. She demands to know why Abel hasn’t come back and why she feels trapped and fragile. Tyson finally reveals that Abel is in the United Factions, working on finalizing his title, a mission described as the hardest he’s ever been given. This revelation brings a fragile hope but also underscores the distance between them.

That night, unable to sleep, the narrator quietly leaves the house and finds Abel waiting on the staircase. She embraces him, desperate for warmth and connection, but he pulls away, maintaining a cold distance. Their conversation is tense and filled with unspoken emotions; Abel shows concern for her but remains guarded. He tells her they will be going somewhere tomorrow and promises to pick her up in the morning before disappearing into the night.

The chapter ends with the narrator standing alone in the cold, feeling a mix of hope and fear about what the future holds. Abel’s parting words and his distant demeanor leave her uncertain, yet she clings to the hope that he will return for her. The emotional weight of their strained reunion and the looming change create a powerful sense of anticipation and vulnerability.

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Chapter 387: Cold As Ice

Five days had slipped by since that painful confrontation, and in all that time, Abel hadn’t set foot in the house. Not once.

Five long, unbearable days.

With each passing hour, the chill in the air seemed to deepen, as if the walls themselves mourned his absence. The house was eerily silent, the lingering trace of his scent slowly fading into nothingness. Every corner, every crevice whispered memories of him—memories that stabbed at my heart with relentless sharpness.

Tyson had stayed by my side throughout these days, a steadfast presence ensuring I ate, that I didn’t collapse from weakness, that my mind didn’t spiral too far into despair. Yet, despite his care, nothing seemed to reach me. I felt sick even without food, and the sickness worsened in his absence. Every shadow in the house was a cruel reminder—there was the doorway where Abel had last stood, the half-finished cup of tea he’d left behind, and the sheets on the bed still faintly warm from the night before he walked away.

When I reached the kitchen table that morning, my voice cracked as I asked again, “Where is he?”

Tyson paused mid-motion, the spoon hovering over a bowl of porridge. He turned slowly, his face a complicated mask of sympathy and pain. But he said nothing.

He never gave me the answers I craved.

The silence between us grew thick, pressing down on my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake.

Setting the bowl gently in front of me, Tyson’s voice was soft but firm. “You should eat. Your cheeks are hollowing out.”

I stared at the pale, uninviting porridge, the steam rising but offering no comfort.

“He’ll kill me if you don’t eat,” Tyson muttered quietly, almost to himself—but I heard every word.

I whispered bitterly, “If he cared, he’d be here.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, raw and unfiltered.

Tyson’s body stiffened. His head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. “You heard that?” he asked quietly, then quickly averted his gaze, his face hardening.

I picked up the spoon, hesitated, then took a small bite. The bland taste of porridge filled my mouth, but my stomach rebelled immediately. I set the spoon down and pushed the bowl away, first gently, then with mounting frustration.

The chair creaked as I rose abruptly.

Tyson was on his feet in an instant. “You have to eat,” he insisted, his tone sharper now.

“I can’t!” I snapped, the anger bubbling over. “Then tell me—where is he, Tyson? Why isn’t he here?”

“You can’t expect me to just sit here and eat while you keep asking questions that have no answers!” His voice rose, filled with frustration.

“Why won’t he come back? Why am I trapped here, like some fragile thing that needs constant guarding? Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”

By the time I finished, my breath was ragged, my chest heaving.

Tyson remained silent, his gaze fixed on me with a mixture of sorrow and helplessness. Slowly, he exhaled and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, as if trying to rub away an invisible ache.

“This,” he murmured, barely audible, “is the hardest mission he’s ever entrusted to me.”

Though he hadn’t meant for me to hear, the words landed like a thunderclap.

He looked away briefly before meeting my eyes again.

“He’s in the United Factions,” Tyson said simply.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment.

I swallowed hard, clutching onto a fragile thread of hope. “What… what is he doing there?” I asked, my voice trembling.

Tyson’s hands clenched tightly, his fingers intertwined as he looked down.

“I know I shouldn’t ask,” I added quickly, fearing he’d shut down, “but please, Tyson—just tell me something. Anything. I can’t keep guessing.”

His expression softened, edged with guilt.

Finally, he spoke. “He’s finalizing his title.”

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