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The soft buzz of her alarm cracked through the stillness just as the sun began to rise behind the thin curtains.
Isla groaned softly into her pillow, arm stretching out to silence the old phone resting beside her mattress. For a second, she stayed still, eyes closed, breathing slowly.
First day.
The nerves stirred in her stomach, but she pushed them aside with practiced calm. She always had to be calm.
She sat up quietly, brushing golden-blonde hair out of her face. It fell in soft waves past her shoulders—tangled slightly from sleep. Pale morning light filtered across the small bedroom, illuminating the tiny desk in the corner cluttered with notes and empty coffee cups. On the wall above it, a calendar with two bright circles: "First Day" and "Milo's Exams."
"Okay," she whispered to herself, swinging her feet to the ground. "Let's do this."
She padded across the apartment in socks, careful not to wake the boy snoring on the living room couch. Their apartment wasn't big—just two rooms, one of which had been turned into a shared study space. He'd fallen asleep over his books again.
"Milo," she called gently, nudging his shoulder. "Time to get up."
He groaned, pulling a pillow over his face.
"Milo Quinn," she warned in that soft, sisterly tone that was somehow both loving and unyielding. "School."
A muffled protest followed.
She just smiled and walked into the kitchenette, tying her hair back as the kettle started to boil.
The small place smelled like soap and sun and something warm. Isla moved like someone used to taking care of everything alone—fluid, quiet, efficient. She fried two eggs, toasted bread, and poured tea into mismatched mugs, setting them on the table just as Milo finally shuffled in, hair wild, one sock missing.
"You look like a gremlin," she said lightly.
"I feel like one," he mumbled.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Milo kept yawning between bites. Isla kept glancing at the clock.
"Don't forget your notebook," she reminded him.
"Don't forget to breathe," he shot back, eyeing her nervously. "Big day."
She paused.
Then smiled. "Yeah. Big day."
There was a time—not long ago—when the idea of walking into a place like Moreau Corporation would've terrified her. But something had shifted. Not in the world, which was still sharp and unfair, but in her.
Life had never been kind. Not after her father's death. Not with their mother gone into a silence she couldn't return from. But through it all, Isla had chosen to stay soft.
To be kind anyway. Gentle anyway. Steady anyway.
People mistook her for fragile.
She just never corrected them.
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By the time she stood in front of the towering glass building, dressed in a navy-blue blouse tucked into cream slacks, she looked every bit the picture of quiet professionalism. Her golden-blonde hair was neatly pinned back, a few wisps curling at her jaw. A beige shoulder bag hung against her hip.
She tilted her head up slowly, staring at the endless windows of the building above.
It felt… like stepping into a different world.
Not intimidating.
Not terrifying.
Just new.
She clutched her access badge a little tighter.
Just breathe.
And then she stepped inside.
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