Nothing.
Nothing.
The fury spikes suddenly, sharp and uncontained.
“Where are you?”she demands of the empty room.
The words come out louder than she intends.
She presses her hands flat on the desk, head bowed, breathing hard.This is exactly what her mother warned her about, this unraveling, this reckless need toknow.
But she can’t stop now.
The door creaks softly.
Callum.
Isla doesn’t look up.“If you’re here to tell me to slow down, don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he says quietly.
She straightens despite herself.He stands just inside the doorway, watching her with an intensity that makes her chest ache in a way she doesn’t want to examine.
“My mother called,” Isla says.“She wants me home.”
Callum’s jaw tightens.“And that’s why you’re tearing the place apart.”
“Yes.”She swallows.“Because she’s afraid.”
Callum steps closer, drawn into the orbit of her fury.“Of what?”
“That I’ll find something she couldn’t control.”
She gestures helplessly at the papers.“But I’m not finding it.I’m just proving what I already knew, that he chose everything else.”
“That’s not true,” Callum says.
The certainty in his voice makes her spin toward him.
“Oh?”she snaps.“Because from where I’m standing?—”
She stops.
He’s close.Too close.Near enough that she can touch him, the solid steadiness of his presence in a way that makes her suddenly, painfully aware of how alone she’s been.
“You don’t get to tell me what’s true,” Isla says, her voice trembling despite her effort to control it.
“I’m not,” Callum replies.“I’m saying you’re looking for proof that hurts you.”
She laughs sharply.“That’s all there is.”
“No,” he says.“There’s something else.You just haven’t let yourself see it yet.”
The room feels tight.Charged.
Isla takes a step back, bumping into the desk.Callum follows instinctively, stopping just short of touching her.His hands brace on the desk on either side of her, caging her in without trapping her.
Her breath stutters.
