Isla’s POV
In the evening…..
The house was loud.
Not loud in the way parties were loud, but in the way families got when they tried too hard to act normal. Silverware clinked too often. Chairs scraped. Too many voices overlapped in the dining room, all of it forced into cheerfulness like it could erase what had happened the night before.
Sienna was sitting at the table again for dinner. Better. Brighter. Smiling.
Aurora had wrapped her in layers of warmth and care like armor—soft sweaters, tea that kept getting refilled before the cup was empty, questions asked too gently. Ronan stood behind her chair, one solid hand resting on her shoulder as if to remind the world she was still here.
Marco hovered too.
He didn’t hover like Aurora. He hovered like a man who’d once carved power out
