"Isabella," Kian called, voice low and casual, but not quite dismissive.
She was halfway through the door when she paused and turned, brows lifting. "Hmm?"
Kian didn't move from where he sat on the log, arms rested over his knees, firelight flickering across the angles of his face. He looked like someone who'd just returned from battle and wasn't sure whether he'd won or not.
"Next time," he said, his tone too smooth to be anything but smug, "don't speak so much if you can't take down three men."
Isabella blinked. "What?"
And then—realization.
Her jaw dropped. "Wait. You… You were the one who killed them?!"
Kian raised a single brow, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"But… how?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "You weren't anywhere near me. You didn't even show up until later—"
"They tried to touch what doesn't belong to them," he said simply, as if that explained everything.
It didn't. But it did something else to her insides.
