The storm of the night had thickened the air, made it damp and worried. The rooms in Dante's big house felt colder, though fires were blazing. Isla moved through them soundlessly, her face expressionless, her steps measured. No one would suspect that every passing hour was carrying her further from him, from the cage he had constructed for her.
Finding the papers had stayed with her. They taunted her when she was by herself, his cold words repeating over and over. He didn't deny it. He didn't even blink when she informed him he did it. That truth stung like broken glass in her heart, paining more with each recall.
She no longer cried for her parents. There were no tears strong enough for what she now experienced. She seethed with hate, a fire that raged in her heart, and under it, a smoldering determination to act.
Isla started making plans.
