Isla’s POV
My thumb keeps moving even when my brain stops processing what I’m looking at.
Apartment listings blur into each other. White walls. Open kitchens. “Modern finishes.” “Pet friendly.” “Downtown Seattle.” “Walking distance to—” I scroll past the rest before my mind can latch onto it.
The glow from my phone screen feels too bright against the dimness of the room. I should turn on the bedside lamp. I should probably eat something. I should probably do a lot of things that normal, emotionally stable people do when their life isn’t unraveling thread by thread inside their chest.
Instead, I keep scrolling. Seattle.
It feels safe to think about Seattle. Seattle feels like distance. Distance feels like oxygen. Dustfield feels like suffocation.
Silas lives in Dustfield. Breathes th
