Zayne’s POV
My hand rested on her lap, fingers unconsciously tightening as I drove, the familiar weight of her beside me grounding and unsettling me all at once.
The city lights stretched ahead in blurred streaks through the windshield. Then Isla spoke.
“Are you wearing contacts right now?”
My grip on the steering wheel faltered slightly. The question hit so abruptly my brain lagged behind my heartbeat.
“What?” I asked, turning toward her briefly before forcing my eyes back to the road.
She was watching me, not casually or teasingly. Studying me.
“Contacts,” she repeated softly. “Are you wearing them?”
Shock rippled through my chest, sharp and unexpected. Very few people knew about that. Fewer still ever asked directly.
“No,” I said, the word coming out more clipped than I intend
