The rain didn't let up. It poured harder, a ceaseless torrent that battered against Isabella's skin, pressing her down as if the sky itself wanted her to kneel. Her knees dug into the mud, the weight threatening to suffocate her. For a fleeting second, panic bloomed in her chest.
Her breath stuttered. What if she couldn't stand? What if they saw her falter—saw her, Isabella, undone by a storm? Her fingers clawed into the dirt, slipping, her body trembling beneath the relentless water. Doubt whispered sharp and cruel in her ear: you can't do this… you'll break, you'll fall, you'll drown right here where they all can see.
Every heartbeat hammered louder, her pride and fear crashing together like the storm itself. She gritted her teeth, her chest heaving, caught in that terrifying space between giving in and rising up.
But then—something shifted.
