The phone felt heavier than it should have.
Isabella stood in the middle of Theo's apartment, the late afternoon light slanting through the thin curtains and cutting the room into soft gold and shadow. Dust floated lazily in the air, catching the sunlight like tiny sparks. The place still smelled faintly of paint and charcoal, like unfinished thoughts.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Lincoln Valdes.
The name sat there, untouched, muted by weeks—months—of silence. She had blocked him the night she left home, fingers shaking, heart racing, telling herself she didn't need him. Didn't need anyone who shared their father's blood.
She swallowed.
Theo's voice still echoed in her head.
Ash was here. He said your brother's in town.
Lincoln.
Her jaw tightened. She unlocked her phone, scrolled, and stared at the contact again. For a moment, she considered not doing it. Pretending she hadn't heard anything. Pretending this wasn't about to complicate everything.
Then she exhaled slowly and tapped.
Unblock contact.
The confirmation felt louder than it should have, like a door unlocking somewhere far away.
She didn't call immediately.
Instead, she sat down on the edge of Theo's bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. The room was quiet—too quiet. No sarcasm. No dry comments. No sketchbook scratching against paper.
Just her thoughts.
She opened her messages, typed, erased, typed again.
Are you in town?
She stared at the words, then deleted them.
Too weak.
She tried again.
We need to talk.
Her thumb hesitated. Then she hit send.
The phone buzzed almost instantly.
Typing…
Her stomach dropped.
Where are you, Bella?
The nickname hit harder than expected.
She closed her eyes.
"Damn it," she whispered.
She pressed call before she could overthink it.
The ringing felt endless.
Then—
"Isabella."
His voice was calm. Controlled. Too calm.
She stood up and paced, one hand gripping the phone, the other curled into a fist.
"You're in town," she said. Not a question.
"Yes," Lincoln replied. "And you weren't answering my messages. Or calls. Or anything."
She stopped walking.
"You went to Ash," she said.
A pause.
"…I talked to him."
Her chest tightened. "You had no right."
"He's connected," Lincoln said evenly. "I wanted to know what happened."
"What happened," she snapped, "is none of his business. Or yours."
Another pause—longer this time.
"I heard you're not living at home," he said.
Isabella laughed, sharp and bitter. "Wow. Word travels fast when money's involved."
"Isabella," Lincoln warned, his tone shifting. "Where are you staying?"
"That's not your concern."
Silence.
Then, quieter, "Dad crossed a line."
She froze.
"He slapped you," Lincoln said, not asking.
Her throat tightened. She didn't answer.
The silence was answer enough.
On the other end, Lincoln exhaled slowly. Controlled anger. The kind that didn't explode—it calculated.
"You should've called me," he said.
"I didn't want you involved," she whispered. "This is my mess."
"No," Lincoln replied. "This is our family."
She closed her eyes. "I don't want to go back."
"I'm not asking you to," he said.
That surprised her.
She leaned against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.
"Then why are you here?" she asked quietly.
"To make sure no one else hurts you," Lincoln said. "And to understand who did."
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
"…You won't like the answer."
"I don't care," he said. "I want the truth."
Isabella thought of Theo. Of bruised knuckles. Of a jail cell. Of a boy who took the blame without saying a word.
"Ash spread photos," she said slowly. "Anonymous ones. Online. About Theo."
Lincoln didn't interrupt.
"He ruined his reputation," she continued. "Ruined mine. My dad found out. That's why he kicked me out."
A sharp breath on the other end.
"And Theo?" Lincoln asked.
"He protected me," she said. "Even when it cost him everything."
Silence.
Then Lincoln spoke, his voice colder now. "Ash told me he was attacked."
Isabella laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. Funny how that part travels."
"Did Theo do it?" Lincoln asked.
She didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Another pause.
"And you're okay with that?" Lincoln asked.
"No," she said. "But I understand it."
The words hung between them.
"I'm not asking you to fix this," Isabella said softly. "I'm just asking you not to make it worse."
Lincoln exhaled again.
"Where are you staying?" he asked.
She hesitated.
"At… a friend's place."
"Theo's," Lincoln guessed.
Her silence confirmed it.
"…I won't show up," Lincoln said. "Not yet."
She closed her eyes, relief and fear tangled together.
"But Isabella," he added, "this isn't over."
"I know," she whispered.
The call ended.
She stayed on the floor long after, staring at the dark screen.
The prison phone clicked dead.
Theo lowered the receiver slowly, the echo of Isabella's silence still ringing in his ears.
"Time's up," the guard said flatly.
Theo nodded and stepped back.
As he walked down the corridor, the weight of the conversation settled in his chest. Lincoln. Isabella's brother. A variable he hadn't accounted for.
Back in his cell, Jake looked up from the cake, already halfway through it.
"Good news or bad news?" Jake asked through a mouthful.
Theo sat on his bunk, staring at the wall.
"Complicated," he said.
Jake grinned. "Those are usually the fun ones."
Theo leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
Lincoln Valdes.
Intriguing.
Troublesome.
And coming closer.
He closed his eyes.
Guess the storm's not done yet.