Isla’s POV
A day later.
Morning light creeps through the window in gold strips, reflecting across the floor and climbing slowly toward the bed. For a long moment I stay still, staring at the ceiling while the events of the last few days shuffle around in my head like cards that refuse to arrange themselves into something clear.
And then Zayne’s words yesterday morning.
My mom used to do that when I was a kid.
Except the way he said it hadn’t sounded casual. It sounded… thoughtful. Like he’d remembered something he hadn’t expected to remember.
I roll onto my side and reach for my phone on the nightstand.
8:47 AM.
Zayne already left for work an hour ago. I remember him kissing my forehead before slipping out of bed, careful not to wake me. But he still woke me anyway, not with words
