Silas:
The lodge is finally quiet. Too quiet.
Isadora is finally calm, her head still buried into my chest, as a hush clings to the air like fog after a storm, the kind that makes every breath feel weighted. I stay still, my palm resting against the worn arm of the couch, eyes fixed on the girl curled beside me.
Isadora.
The name alone is enough to pull me under. Her scent—something wild and sweet—threads through the room, delicate as smoke and twice as dangerous. Only minutes ago she was trembling, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, a fragile thing trying to stay upright. I’d pulled her close without much thought, one arm slipping around her shoulders, the way a parched man might reach for water.
Now, her breathing has steadied. Soft. Even. Each exhale fans across my chest wher
