The river was cold, black, and stretched out infinitely Isla barely felt it.
She remained stiff as she sat in the boat, her arms clamped around Camilla’s dead body. The rise and fall of the current did nothing to relieve the pressure on her chest.
Nathaniel was at the wheel, his jaw taut, his eyes flicking over the blackness in front of him. They were far enough away from the gunfire, sure, but there had been no relief.
Only silence.
Only loss.
Camilla Lancaster was dead.
And Isla had never hated her father so much.
Nathaniel inhaled sharply, shaking the silence.
“We have to make it to shore soon.”
Isla didn’t answer. Her fingers sank into the waterproof drive Camilla had given her, the one remnant of whatever final truth her mother had been trying to disclose.
Nathaniel looked
