She had spent the better part of the evening cosseted in Victor's arms as the aftershocks of emotional turmoil from the day lingered on. It wasn't just the sight of Isabella-broken and desperate-that bothered her; it was this haunting realization that no matter how much she loved her sister, she just could not save her. A helplessness like that chewed her soul.
They didn't get back until late. The apartment was quiet; the hum of the city outside was muted by the windows, and the comfort of familiarity wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. Victor guided her onto the couch, refusing to let her lift so much as a finger while he fetched her a glass of water, steady presence a grounding after the chaos.
Sophia took sips, her mind still playing fragments of Isabella's pleas on a loop.
