The call ended.
But the silence stayed.
Isla stood in the center of her apartment, still clutching the phone like it might explain itself. Like maybe if she held it tightly enough, it would rewind time and Damien would pick up and tell her something… anything… that didn’t feel like goodbye.
He hadn’t said the words.
But he didn’t have to.
Because Isla had grown up with liars and men who left halfway through wars. She knew what it meant when someone said I made a mistake and refused to finish the sentence.
She lowered the phone slowly, forcing air into her lungs.
Maggie entered from the side room, pausing in the doorway.
“Did he say where he was?”
“Brooklyn. Safehouse,” Isla replied. Her voice didn’t tremble, but it felt distant. Hollow.
Maggie studied her. “Did he say why?”
“He
