The morning after The Tent Incident™ felt like waking up with a hangover despite never drinking.
Isabella had barely gotten herself together — hair smoothed down, magical tent folded into her space, Glimora perched on her shoulder like a judgmental white puff — when she stepped out onto the mountain path determined to do ONE simple thing:
Return to the Lunareen habitat.
Figure out Shelia's next task.
Leave this stupid mountain.
Find a quiet rock to punch.
That was the plan.
A clean, simple, easy, elegant plan.
But of course…
Nothing in Isabella's life was ever easy.
Because five steps onto the path, behind her, she heard—
Footsteps.
Heavy ones.
Confident ones.
Male ones.
And then…
A low whistle.
And then…
Rambling.
Actual rambling.
She stopped mid-step.
Her eye twitched so violently Glimora gently patted her cheek like, mother, please… breathe.
Isabella closed her eyes. Counted to three. Opened them.
She took another step.
The footsteps followed.
