The common room of the inn buzzed with muted conversation, the crackle of the fireplace doing little to ease the tension Isla felt in every bone of her body.
She sat across from Clara at a small wooden table tucked into the corner, her fingers curled around the clay mug of watered-down ale, which she hadn't touched.
Her mind was still trapped in the moment Alaric had smirked and uttered her name—her real name. She could still hear the mocking tone in his voice, see the way his silver eyes had gleamed with dark amusement as if he already knew the questions spinning through her mind.
How had he done it?
How had he reached into her old life, pulled her from the ocean, and deposited her into this world?
And why her? What made her "valuable," as he put it?
Across the table, Clara had taken on the role of skeptic-turned-strategist, which was an unexpected twist considering just hours ago she hadn't even believed Isla's story. She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her face scrunched in thought. Her own mug sat empty, abandoned in favor of her full attention on Isla.
"Alright," Clara said finally, breaking the heavy silence. "Let's recap. You're from another world, some guy named Alaric yanked you into this one using some weird ritual, and now he's saying you're valuable. That's where we're at, right?"
"Yes," Isla said quietly, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the room. "That's about it."
Clara exhaled sharply, running a hand through her dark hair. "Okay. So, we've established you're not crazy. That's step one."
"Comforting," Isla said dryly, though there was no real humor in her tone.
"Hey, sarcasm aside, I'm serious," Clara said, pointing at her. "I believe you now. I don't know what kind of messed-up magic or science or *whatever* this world runs on, but if a guy like Alaric can pull someone out of their own reality, then this place is even stranger than I thought."
Isla blinked at her, surprised by the conviction in her voice. "You really believe me?"
Clara shrugged. "I saw the way he looked at you. That wasn't just some guy spouting nonsense. He knows you—*really* knows you—and that's enough for me to believe your story. Besides..." She hesitated, her gaze flickering to the fire. "I've always thought there was something... off about you. Like you didn't quite fit here."
Isla opened her mouth to respond, but Clara held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong—you've done a good job playing the part of Evangeline. But now that I know the truth, it makes sense. You're not like the rest of us."
Isla's chest tightened. She wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an observation meant to highlight how much of an outsider she truly was. Either way, the weight of her displacement hit her all over again, raw and unrelenting.
"Thanks, I think," Isla muttered, her fingers tightening around the mug. "But believing me doesn't solve anything. I still don't know why I'm here or what Alaric wants from me."
"Right," Clara said, nodding. "Which brings us to step two: figuring out what the hell we're going to do about it."
Isla raised an eyebrow. "Do about it? What can we do? He's... he's *Alaric Veylan*. He's part of the aristocracy. He has power, resources, and—oh, I don't know—the ability to snatch people from alternate dimensions."
Clara smirked. "Yeah, but he's also just a guy. And guys like that? They talk. They gloat. They leave crumbs behind because they think no one else is smart enough to follow them."
Isla frowned. "You think he's left clues?"
"I think it's worth looking into," Clara said. "He's not untouchable, Isla. People like him surround themselves with secrets, and secrets have a way of spilling out if you poke at them long enough."
Isla stared at her, the flicker of hope in her chest battling against the fear that had taken root there. She wanted to believe Clara was right, but the thought of going up against someone like Alaric made her stomach churn.
"And what if we poke too hard and he retaliates?" Isla asked quietly. "What if we make things worse?"
Clara leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Then we deal with it. Look, I know you're scared. Hell, I'm scared, too. But we can't just sit here and wait for him to make his next move. We have to be proactive."
Isla swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the mug in her hands. She knew Clara was right. Sitting idle wasn't an option. But the thought of confronting Alaric—or even investigating him—felt like walking into the lion's den.
"Alright," Isla said finally, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. "Where do we start?"
Clara grinned, her confidence infectious. "That's the spirit. First, we need more information about him. His background, his connections, his... hobbies. Anything that might give us a clue about why he's so interested in you."
"Easier said than done," Isla muttered. "He's a lord. People like him don't exactly leave their personal lives out in the open."
"Which is why we're going to have to dig," Clara said. "There's always someone willing to talk for the right price—or the right amount of charm."
Isla arched an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I'd call either of us 'charming.'"
"Speak for yourself," Clara said with a wink. "You'd be surprised what a little flattery can do."
Isla couldn't help but laugh, though the sound was tinged with nerves. Clara's optimism was reassuring, but she couldn't shake the feeling that they were in way over their heads.
---
Later that evening, after finalizing their plan to gather information on Alaric, Isla found herself alone in their shared room at the inn. Clara had gone downstairs to talk to the innkeeper in hopes of learning more about the Veylan family, leaving Isla with her thoughts.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap. The room was small but cozy, the flickering light of the oil lamp casting soft shadows on the walls. But despite the warmth of her surroundings, she couldn't shake the chill that had settled in her bones.
Her mind wandered back to her old life—the life she had lost. She thought of the cruise ship, of the storm that had torn through the night and sent her plummeting into the icy depths. She thought of Mia, her best friend, who had convinced her to go on the trip in the first place. Did Mia know she was gone? Did she blame herself?
*Or did she move on?* Isla wondered, her chest tightening at the thought. *Did she forget about me?*
A knock at the door startled her, pulling her from her thoughts. She stood and crossed the room, opening the door to find Clara standing there, her expression a mix of excitement and something Isla couldn't quite place.
"Well?" Isla asked, stepping aside to let her in. "Did you find anything?"
Clara nodded, her eyes alight with determination. "The innkeeper didn't know much, but he mentioned a place where we might be able to get some answers. Apparently, there's a... gathering of sorts that happens in the city every few weeks. A private event for the elite. If Alaric has any skeletons in his closet, odds are someone there knows about them."
"A gathering?" Isla repeated, frowning. "What kind of gathering?"
"The kind where people drink too much and talk too loudly," Clara said with a smirk. "It's invitation-only, but... I might know someone who can get us in."
Isla's heart sank. "You mean we're going to sneak into a party full of nobles? Clara, that's—"
"Risky?" Clara finished. "Sure. But it's also our best shot at getting close to Alaric—or at least someone who knows him."
Isla hesitated, her fear bubbling to the surface. But then she remembered Alaric's smirk, the way he had looked at her like he already owned her. She clenched her fists, her resolve hardening.
"Alright," she said. "Let's do it."