ISABELLA — THE ECHOES OF PEACE
The cabin was small, quiet, and mercifully ordinary.
No gunfire. No smoke. No alarms humming through the floor.
For the first time in weeks, Isabella slept without dreaming of flames.
Almost.
The morning light poured gently through the thin curtains, brushing across the wooden walls. Ava slept in her crib by the window, tiny fists curled, lips parting with each soft exhale. The child looked so peaceful that it hurt because Isabella knew peace never lasted long in their world.
She turned and found Sebastian sitting by the window, shirtless, half-bandaged, staring out at the fog-laced forest.
His shoulders looked heavier than usual. The scar over his ribs pulsed faintly a thread of faint blue under the skin.
"You're awake," she whispered, sitting up.
He nodded without looking at her. "Couldn't sleep."
"You're in pain."
He gave a humorless smile. "Pain means I'm still here."
