Zayne’s POV
I must’ve heard wrong.
That was the only explanation my mind could offer, a misfire, a distortion, the echo of exhaustion blending into something it wasn’t. Because there was no way in this universe where Isla Hart stood in my apartment, still shaking from nearly being hunted down, and calmly said she’d already booked a flight home.
“Say that again,” I tell her.
My voice doesn’t rise. It drops, flat and controlled. Dangerous in its calm. She doesn’t look at me.
“I already booked a flight back,” she says again, softer this time. Like she’s testing the words against the air. Like she regrets them the second they left her mouth.
My jaw tightens.
“We’re all leaving with the private jet by the weekend,” I say. “After Sienna’s final wedding party.”
Silence follows. Not defens
