Zayne’s POV
The road stretched long and quiet ahead of me, sunlight flickering through the windshield in broken strips of gold. The steady hum of the engine usually calmed me. Usually gave me time to think without feeling trapped inside my own head.
Currently, it only made everything louder.
Isla sat beside me, clutching that file like it might disappear if she loosened her grip. Her fingers were pale around the edges of the folder, her shoulders slightly hunched inward, like she was trying to protect herself from something invisible pressing against her ribs.
Her father was deceased. I hadn’t known. The realization still sat heavy in my chest.
It wasn’t just the fact itself. Death was not unfamiliar to me. Loss was practically currency in my world.
But Isla carried it differently.
