ISABELLE
I woke to sunlight pressing through Sage’s guest room curtains and the smell of coffee already brewing in the kitchen.
My phone showed 6:02 AM. No new messages.
I stared at the screen longer than I should have, my chest tight, before I made myself put it face down and get out of bed.
Sage was at the stove when I shuffled in, still in her pyjamas, prodding at scrambled eggs with a spatula.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said without turning around. “Want some—” She stopped the moment she looked at me. Her expression shifted. “Whoa. You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, making a beeline for the coffee pot.
“I’m serious, Bella. You barely slept, didn’t you?” She set down the spatula and came closer, studying my face. “What’s going on?”
“I’m fine. Just a rough night.”
“Bad dr
