ISABELLA’S POV
It started with blood.
Thick, dark, seeping down the walls of a hotel room I didn’t remember checking into. The bed beneath me was soaked. The sheets clung to my thighs, warm and sticky. My chest heaved. My hands trembled as I pushed myself upright, but the world tilted sideways like a broken carousel.
A man stood at the window.
His back to me. Black suit. Broad shoulders. Head tilted just enough to show a sharp jawline—but his face blurred, melting at the edges like wax in a fire. No matter how hard I squinted, I couldn’t make him out.
"Who are you?" I whispered.
He didn’t turn.
Instead, he slowly raised a hand… and pressed it flat against the windowpane. Blood smeared across the glass like a child’s drawing.
I backed away—but the room stretched with every step, the
