Isla woke to cold sheets and silence.
Again.
But this time felt different.
She reached across the bed, finding only emptiness where Killian should have been. The cabin was quiet—too quiet. No sounds of him making coffee or moving around the kitchen like he usually did before waking her for their morning run.
She sat up, pulling the sheet around herself, and noticed his duffel bag was gone from the chair where he'd left it last night.
Her stomach dropped.
She found him outside, loading the car.
He was already dressed. Jeans and a t-shirt. Sunglasses hiding his eyes even though the sun had barely risen. His movements were efficient, controlled, deliberately not looking toward the cabin.
"Killian?"
He stiffened but didn't turn around. "Get dressed. We're leaving."
"What? We have another week—"
"Plans changed. Pack your things. We leave in twenty minutes."
