The mist curled around Isabella like a curtain dropping behind her—and she was DONE with Osiris.
Absolutely finished.
"You called me a man," she hissed, still glaring at him like he had personally kicked her ancestral grandmother in the teeth.
"I didn't—"
"And BEFORE that," she jabbed a finger at his chest, "you called me SMALL—"
"That is not—"
"And NOW you're implying I look like a MAN?!"
She slapped her palm to her forehead so hard it echoed, head tilting back like she was appealing to invisible gods to grant her patience before she committed a crime. Her elbow popped outward dramatically, her whole body twisting like she was in a telenovela audition. "Oh my gods, Osiris, KEEP DIGGING. PLEASE. MAKE THE GRAVE WIDER. Throw yourself in. Roll around. Decorate it."
Osiris opened his mouth—
She whirled on him with lightning speed, raising a single finger with the sharp authority of a kindergarten teacher catching a child about to eat glue.
