The helicopter cabin was a pocket of roaring silence. The thrum of the blades outside was a physical force, vibrating through the floor, up my legs, into my chest where my heart hammered in a frantic, competing rhythm.
Below us, the city sprawled out like a glittering wound in the darkness, but none of it mattered. None of it touched us. Here, in this suspended cage of metal and glass, the only universe that existed was the trembling, fever-hot weight of Isabella in my arms.
She was curled into me like she was trying to disappear inside my chest, her nails barely grazing my shirt as her hands fisted weakly against me. The thin fabric of my jacket did nothing to mute the heat rolling off her body—it burned straight through, crawling under my skin until it felt like my own blood was boiling. Every ragged sound that left her lips, every tremor of her body against mine, was a blade sawing through my ribs.
