ISAAC'S POV
Imogen had barely left, and already my mind was spinning, thoughts clashing against each other like storm waves crashing against the rocks. The way she had looked at me before she walked away—so broken, so utterly devastated—kept replaying in my head. I couldn't shake the image of her tear-streaked face, couldn't ignore the way her voice had trembled when she said she had to go back to that house. The house that wasn't a home, not anymore.
I tried to focus on the sounds around me, the murmur of voices from the gathering inside, the occasional clink of glasses, the subdued atmosphere of grief that hung over everything like a suffocating blanket. But it was no use. My mind kept circling back to Imogen, to the way she had flinched when I touched her, the way her eyes had darted to the ground when Elijah's name was mentioned. Something dark had happened between them, something more than just the bruises she tried to hide beneath her makeup.
