Isla’s POV
The city didn’t look any different after I left the hospital. That was the part that unsettled me the most.
The streets were still alive—cars gliding past intersections, traffic lights blinking patiently, music leaking faintly from open windows. Somewhere, people were laughing.
And here I was, folded into the backseat of a stranger’s car, trying to understand how quickly a life could tilt.
The driver didn’t speak. He didn’t ask questions. Just drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes forward. Professional. Controlled. The kind of man who knew how to mind his business.
I appreciated that more than he could ever know.
I rested my head back against the seat and let my eyes close, but the darkness didn’t help. All it did was replay the hospital room in fragments—Ronan’s voice,
