“I don’t need to,” I snap. “We’re not going back to the island.”
“This isn’t about giving up and going back,” she says. “It’s about choosing our battle ground.”
I step closer without meaning to, the space between us shrinking until I can see the fine tension at the corner of hermouth. “That place is a cage. You don’t walk back into a cage and call it strategy.”
“You do,” she says quietly, “if the cage is honest.”
The words settle slowly, heavy and unwelcome, pressing against something deep in my chest.
“They built that place to break you.”
“They built it to watch,” she corrects. “Breaking me was optional. I think we’ve all proven, we don’t break easily.”
I open my mouth to argue when a knock cuts through the room.
Sharp. Deliberate. Unignorable.
I don’t turn. I know who it is before the door opens.
Bones steps in without ceremony, taking in the distance between us, the fact that Kayla’s seated while I’m standing over her, the tension coiled tight enough to snap. He closes the door behind him and approaches with a resigned look on his face like he’s knew this was always where the conversation was heading.
“You’re arguing about the island,” he says.
“No,” I say flatly. “We’re not.”
Bones meets my gaze without blinking. “You are.”
Then he does something that actually hurts – he steps into the space between us and takes a seat on the bed, right beside Kayla. Not physically blocking, not posturing. Just placing himself squarely in the line of fracture.
Taking sides silently, without fanfare.
“You won’t stop this by locking her down,” he says. “We stop it by choosing the terrain on which to end this.”
Something cracks.
Not loudly. Not visibly. A hairline fracture spreading under pressure.
“You think walking into their hands is choosing the terrain?” I ask.
“I think pretending you can outrun a system designed to wait is delusion,” Bones replies evenly. “The island is a known variable. That’s exactly why it matters.”
Kayla looks at him then and the expression on her face tightens my chest. Not triumph. Not victory.
Recognition.
“You’re siding with her,” I say.
“I’m siding with reality,” Bones answers. “You want safety. She wants agency. Right now, those aren’t the same thing.”
The room goes quiet in a way that feels permanent.
I realise, with sickening clarity, that I’ve lost the ground beneath my feet. No one’s waiting for my call. No one’s looking to me to end this. Not because Kayla demanded it – but because she doesn’t need to.
I turn back to her. “You’re not doing this.”
She stands.
Not abruptly. Not dramatically. Just…up.
