Henry woke up early, his mind still tangled with the conversation from the night before. His gut told him something was wrong, something he wasn’t seeing yet. The unknown text had only cemented that feeling.
He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his phone resting on the nightstand. He had sent the message, but there was no reply yet.
Beside him, Catherina was still asleep, her chest rising and falling steadily. But Henry couldn’t ignore the tension in her body, even in sleep. It was subtle—the way her fingers twitched, the way her breathing would change ever so slightly, as if her mind was troubled even in dreams.
Was she thinking about what he had asked last night? About Isabella?
Henry turned away, exhaling slowly. He needed answers, and he was going to get them.
His phone buzzed.
