The morning light in Sora's private suite was too soft for a heart that had already been torn open too many times.
Sora sat by the window, still wrapped in the hospital gown, her hand resting lightly over the bandage that stretched across her abdomen. The pain was no longer sharp like before—now it was a dull, constant reminder that she was still alive.
But surviving didn't feel like living.
The door opened quietly.
Isla stepped inside.
Sora looked up immediately, her eyes widening. "You're out already?"
Isla gave a small nod, her expression softer than usual. There were faint burn marks along her shoulder and collarbone, partially hidden beneath a loose blouse, but her posture was steady, controlled.
"I can't stay," Isla said. "Jacob already booked our flight. I need to go back for my reconstructive surgery."
Sora's fingers curled slightly. "So soon…"
Isla crossed the room and sat beside her. "Sena just called me before I came here."
That made Sora freeze.
