The safehouse was silent, but it was an oppressive silence… like a held breath, waiting for the strike to come.
Isla gripped the edges of the bathroom sink and stared at her reflection. Her skin was still painted with the remnants of the night before, Damien’s kisses, his touch, but her mind had already turned back to the storm outside these walls.
To Ethan.
He was getting worse. The tremors. The blackouts. The way his body seemed to be splitting apart from the inside out. Something in him was transforming violently.
Damien walked into the doorway behind her, shirtless, two mugs of coffee in hand.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded slowly, but he saw through it.
“We have to move him,” she said.
“Before my father gets to him again.”
“Where,” he asked.
“There’s a specialist,” she said, f
