Callum stands on the threshold, his expression cautious, unreadable.
“Mrs.Calder said you were in here,” he says.“I wanted to check on you.”
Of course, he did.
“Did she?”Isla replies lightly, stepping back to let him in.
Callum enters, closing the door behind him with deliberate care.He doesn’t invade the space.He doesn’t hover.He stands near the window, hands loose at his sides, like he’s braced for whatever version of Isla he’s about to encounter.
She studies him in the fading light, the lines of his face softened by dusk.He looks tired.Not just physically, emotionally, like someone who has spent the day absorbing truths he didn’t ask for.
“My mother called,” Isla says.
His jaw tightens.“I assumed.”
“She wants me home,” Isla continues.“Immediately.”
“I also assumed that.”
She crosses her arms.“She asked about you.”
That gets his attention.
“What did she say?”Callum asks carefully.
Isla watches his face as she answers.“That she doesn’t like you.”
A corner of his mouth lifts, humorless.“I’m devastated.”
“She said you’re dangerous.”
The humor vanishes.
Callum’s gaze sharpens, something alert flickering behind his eyes.“Did she say why?”
“No,” Isla admits.“But she didn’t need to.”
Callum exhales slowly.“People who rely on control don’t like variables.”
“And you’re a variable,” Isla says.
“I’m inconvenient,” he corrects.“There’s a difference.”
She studies him for a long moment.“You knew she would react like this.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t warn me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Callum hesitates, then meets her gaze fully.“Because you didn’t need more voices in your head.”
The answer hits harder than she expects.
Isla looks away first.
