Rowan’s POV
The door to my room slammed open with enough force to rattle the framed maps on the wall. I didn’t even look up from where I stood by the window, fists clenched at my sides, staring out at the black forest line like it owed me answers.
“I don’t give a damn!” I roared at the empty air, slamming the door shut behind me so hard the lock mechanism groaned in protest.
Footsteps—soft, hesitant—followed almost immediately. I could smell her before I saw her: faint traces of coal dust that still clung to her skin no matter how many times she scrubbed, mixed with the clean, wild scent that was just… Isla. The same scent that had haunted me since the moment I dragged her out of that hellhole.
She stopped a few feet away, voice small but steady.
“What’s wrong?”
I didn’t turn around.
