Nathan’s POV
The ticking of the grandfather clock echoed in the hallway, louder than it had any right to be.
I stood at the window of my home office, one hand shoved into my pocket, the other pulling through my hair for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. I had ripped the tie from my low bun an hour ago, letting the strands fall loose over my shoulders.
At this point, pacing the floor had become routine—an attempt to burn off the tight ball of tension curling in my chest.
They left the office at exactly 5:10.
Now it was 8:15, and still, no sign of Isabelle or Jaime. I’d texted her around 7. She’d said they were still at the store, nothing to worry about, but that didn’t stop the steady crawl of unease in my gut.
Jaime was healing faster than expected, yes, but that didn’t me
