ISLA'S POV
The flight home was quieter than the flight out had been, and that quiet said more than any of the shouting on that terrace ever could have.
Dare sat across the aisle, working through emails on his laptop with the kind of focus that looked like control but felt, from where I sat, like avoidance dressed up in a suit. Finn kept glancing between us like he was watching a slow accident he had no way of stopping. Nobody spoke unless it was necessary — a confirmation about the car meeting us at the airport, a question about which files needed to be forwarded to Voss's team before Monday. Work words. Safe words. Anything else sat locked behind my teeth, because I'd meant what I said on that terrace, and meaning it in daylight, thirty thousand feet up, felt heavier than it had in the
