Isabella's point of view
The night air clung to my skin, thick with the scent of rain, city smog, and something metallic—something sharp. It wasn't real, just a phantom sensation, but it curled in the back of my throat like a warning.
Kyle had left the restaurant, but her presence hadn't.
George stood close beside me, his body tense, fingers curled into loose fists at his sides. He hadn't spoken since Kyle whispered in my ear, but the weight of his silence pressed against me harder than any words could.
I inhaled slowly, pushing away the chill still crawling up my spine. I wouldn't let her get to me. Not like this.
"Let's go," I murmured, reaching for George's hand.
He didn't hesitate, his fingers threading through mine, his grip firm. Protective. We moved toward the car, the city lights casting long shadows over the pavement. My heels clicked softly, a steady rhythm, but my heartbeat was anything but calm.
