The house was too bright when I pushed open the door. Before the clock could chime, Jones came out of the living room at a near run. He reached for my hand like a man catching a falling glass.
I stepped back. His fingers closed on air.
“Where were you?" His voice was raw. “Why didn't you answer? I called, I texted, I sent patrols—Isabella, do you have any idea—"
I looked past him. Sophia sat on the sofa, dress neat, blanket arranged, hand pressed to her chest as if the room needed help believing she had a heart. I kept my voice even. “You already have someone worrying for you," I said, glancing at her. “I didn't want to divide your attention."
“Don't do that," he said, then tried for calm and failed. “Don't disappear. If you're upset, say it."
Sophia's tone turned soft and selfless. “
