The tent sealed shut behind Isabella with a soft zip that sounded too final. Too heavy. Too absolute. It echoed inside her chest like a door closing on something she did not want to think about.
She sank to her knees first.
Then to her hands.
Then she just sat there on the padded floor of the tent, hunched over, breathing shallowly.
Outside, the cavern murmured with distant monster sounds. The heat pressed through the fabric in waves, but inside the tent it felt muted, softer, quieter. Like she had stepped into her own pocket world. A world where she did not need to pretend she was fine.
The fruit she had been eating earlier was still stuck in her throat. Her appetite had died the moment Osiris asked that cursed question.
Her mate.
That one word had undone the entire fragile structure she had built around her heart.
