*Isla*
Back in my room, I can still smell the sting of the chemicals someone used to clean the mess up from when Sydney’s water broke.
It seems like that happened ages ago, but it was really only a matter of hours. Maddox still has my hand, and when I pause and stare at the spot where Sydney was standing when she came into my room, he has to stop walking. “What is it, Isla?” he asks me, his tone so gentle, no one would ever imagine he was known as a ruthless killer.
Shaking my head, I try to jar the memory free so it can float away, but it won’t come loose. “Uhm, it’s just… Sydney. When she came to get me, she was so scared, and I thought she didn’t really have anything to be afraid of. But clearly, I was wrong.”
He seems to be putting the pieces of the puzzle together now. He must not
