Zayne’s POV
I don’t sleep again after that, not really. I lie there with my arm around her, staring at the ceiling while the memory keeps replaying behind my eyes.
A gun, my hand, the weight of it.
This is real, too real to be something my mind made up, and the worst part isn’t what I saw. It’s what I didn’t.
Beside me, Isla shifts slightly in her sleep. Her breathing has calmed now, even and soft. Like whatever she was reliving earlier has passed.
But the words she said: Don’t shoot. They won’t leave my head, because that wasn’t random. It was a memory, my memory.
I turn my head slightly, looking down at her. Her face is peaceful now. It doesn’t match what I saw earlier. It doesn’t match the way her body had stiffened near the window or the way her voice had sounded, like she was
