The sound of waves crashed onto the terrace, collecting specks of salt and smoke on the way. Isla hugged herself, not because she was cold, but because she felt like everything was weighing down on her.
Damien hadn’t moved.
His hands were still gripping the railing, his knuckles tight, and his jaw strict with restraint.
The silence between them was not desolate.
There were things left unspoken, decisions not yet made, some kind of danger boiling under the surface.
When he did speak, the voice had become softer, hoarser.
“You should rest.”
Isla inhaled hard and looked at him. “That’s what you always say.”
His gaze darted toward hers, dark and unreadable.
“Because it’s true.”
She swallowed. “And what about you?”
He breathed out, leaning his head back a little.
“I don’t have that
