The dawn was still young when Isla reached the road beyond the villa. Her legs ached, her lungs burned, and every breath carried the faint taste of smoke and blood. The world outside felt too quiet—too still after the chaos she'd just escaped. For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no guards watching, no locked gates, no walls to keep her in.
Freedom, she thought. But it did not feel like triumph. It felt like standing on the edge of something vast and unknown, with nowhere left to go.
She walked until the villa disappeared behind her. The fire's glow dimmed into a smear of orange against the horizon, a memory already fading. Every step away from that place felt like shedding a layer of herself—yet some part of her refused to let go. Dante's voice still echoed in her mind, low and rough: "If you leave now, I will not stop you."
He hadn't. That frightened her more than if he had tried.
