Chapter 80

Isabella

The knock came before dawn, soft, quiet, and a bit hesitant. I blinked into the early sunlight slipping through the curtains, unsure if I had dreamt it, but when I rose and opened the door, there was no one in sight. Only the soft rustle of silence in the hallway and the weight of something hanging on my door handle. A dress.

It was early, a bit still dark outside, the sky a quiet orange, as though the sun felt lazy to shine even as it pressed against the window, while the fabric glowed faintly in the hall light; deep green, silk, or something close to it, smooth like water against skin. And tucked just beneath the strap, a note.

Wear this. We leave in an hour.

A.

As usual, no greetings, and no explanation. I couldn’t explain the sinking feel in my tummy or even the sadness in my chest. It seemed we were back to the usual—orders and silence. How beautiful, I thought.

I touched the fabric, unsure why my chest still ti