The cabin was silent long after the woman's voice had faded into the night.
The letter lay on the table like a living thing small, dark, and heavy with everything they didn't want to believe.
Isabella sat by the window, staring out into the shadows.
Her fingers twisted the hem of her sleeve, and her thoughts were a storm she couldn't calm.
Damian hadn't spoken for hours, pacing the room like a man haunted by ghosts he couldn't name.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"Damian,"
she whispered, "talk to me."
He froze mid-step, his back still to her.
"There's nothing to say."
"There's everything to say," she countered softly.
"You just don't want to let me in."
He turned then, eyes shadowed and tired.
"You think I don't want to?"
His voice cracked slightly, something rare, something raw in the way he spoke.
"You think it's easy knowing the man who made me into this might still be out there?
Watching and waiting."
She rose slowly and moved close to him.
