The hallway was quiet.
Not empty—but quiet in that end-of-day, filtered-sunlight kind of way. The soft hum of conversation trailed behind distant footsteps. Locker doors opened and closed with hollow clacks. Someone laughed near the stairwell.
But between the two of them, the silence held a different texture.
Damien walked half a step behind her, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed as ever. He wasn't pushing the pace, wasn't speaking yet. Just moving beside her like this was normal.
Like it had always been normal.
It wasn't.
Not for her.
She kept her eyes forward, steps steady, not too fast. Not too slow. Measured. Which—frustratingly—was exactly the pace he liked to match.
Then—
"So," he said, breaking the silence with that easy lilt of his voice, "do you have a place in mind?"
A place.
The word landed heavier than it should've.
Isabelle's gaze didn't waver, but her mind did.
A place…
She'd actually thought about it.
More than once.
