Isla couldn't forget how his hand felt on her wrist all night, and even though she kept on telling herself that it meant nothing, her body still felt the warmth, felt how close they were, and felt the change in the air between them. She repeated her over and over to herself, 'he is my enemy, he is my enemy', but the words seemed weaker each time she repeated it, just like thin threads that were about to break.
By morning, she was angry at herself, she couldn't let herself be this weak. If she let herself think about him that way, she would lose everything that she was still trying to hold on to.. her hate, her hope, and her freedom. She had to remember who and how Dante really was.
And she got reminded of that much sooner than she thought.
