He wasn’t sure how long he stood there in the hallway, breathing in the cool air as it seemed to pull him away from the room he’d just left. The isolation, the coldness, it felt worse than anything he had expected.
Back inside, Isabella, barely able to stay awake, noticed the faint sound of footsteps. Her head turned toward the entrance, her blurry eyes squinting against the dim light. Was that... she wondered, blinking the fog from her vision. She looked toward the door, but there was no one there.
Cyrus.
Her mind was too hazy to process the fleeting moment. Was he there?
It didn’t matter. Not right now. She was exhausted, her body fighting against the weakness that had drained her. She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. She had to rest. But she made a silent promise to herself—I’ll talk to him later. I’ll thank him later.
But as sleep claimed her once more, the soft ache in her chest lingered, a quiet whisper she couldn’t ignore. Something told her Cyrus hadn’t been completely gone. Something told her that maybe, just maybe, he was a little more than just the stranger he seemed.
As the room fell back into its heavy silence, the others continued to watch over Isabella, their own thoughts drifting. But Cyrus was already gone, his absence felt in the empty space he left behind. And with that, everything returned to its place, for now.
A few hours passed. The moon had shifted, casting silver light across the cold ground. The fire crackled low, and the others were fast asleep. Only Kian remained.
His tall frame sat rigid against the wall, arms crossed, gaze locked on the figure curled up on the fur bedding.
Isabella.
Her breathing was steady now, her cheeks no longer pale, her lashes long and resting against her skin like soft fans. Glimora was snuggled against her chest, the beast’s white fur glowing faintly beneath the moonlight, like it had been sent from another world to guard her.
Kian’s jaw clenched.
He didn’t move, didn’t blink. His eyes just stayed on her.
Why?
Why did he care?
She was nothing but a strange woman. A fragile, unpredictable, reckless strange woman who constantly stirred chaos and refused to stay quiet. And yet... there was something about her. Something he couldn’t turn away from.
He’d been watching her for hours now, longer than he’d ever stared at anything in his life. The worst part? He didn’t even realize he’d been doing it. Her fingers twitched once in her sleep, and his entire body went alert. She sighed softly, and something in his chest tugged.
He didn’t do soft. He didn’t do emotions.
And still—
There it was. That feeling again. That strange, stupid ache inside his chest like something dangerous was growing there. Something he couldn’t name.
He exhaled slowly, trying to shake it off.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this. He was supposed to be above all this. Untouchable. Unshaken. Emotion was weakness. Attachment was worse.
But this—this wasn’t weakness, was it?
No.
It didn’t feel like weakness.
It felt warm. Sharp. Alive.
It felt like... her.
Kian looked away fast, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated by the realization slamming into his gut. No. No, no, no. He couldn’t let this grow. Couldn’t let himself get close. One moment of softness, and it would spread like rot. He knew how this ended. He knew what happened to people who cared.
He looked back one last time. Isabella shifted in her sleep, brow twitching like she was having a dream.
His chest tightened again.
Damn it.
Kian stood up abruptly.
His movements were quick, controlled, but stiff—like he was walking away from danger, not a sleeping girl. His feet brushed quietly against the cold ground as he made his way toward the entrance of the room.
He needed air.
No—he needed distance.
He couldn’t afford this.
Couldn’t afford her.
Not now.
Not ever.
The next morning, Isabella was woken by the warm, mouthwatering scent of soup drifting through the air.
It smelled really, really good.
It smelled like home.
Not the kind of "home" where the kitchen was just a polished display and the food came from a microwave. No. This was different. Real. Comforting. Soulful. The kind of smell that clung to your skin, settled in your chest, and made you feel safe.
Here... she could breathe.
Unlike her old life back on Earth—where everything was rehearsed, prepackaged, and pre-approved—this place was raw, untamed, alive.
Here, she didn’t have to be anything.
No one expected her to sit up straight, smile perfectly, or impress someone she didn’t even like.
Here, she was free!!!!!!!!!!!
And as she blinked against the soft morning light, her heart swelled. Happy. Warm. Whole.
It hit her like a wave. She didn’t miss Earth. Not even a little.
Dying hadn’t crushed her. Leaving her old life hadn’t made her sob or wish for second chances.
Because maybe—just maybe—there had been nothing real to go back to.
Sure, it had been glamorous. Parties. Designer clothes. Flashing lights and compliments.
But it was also... draining. Performative. Fake.
And lonely. So, so lonely.
A world where her parents only ever asked her to be better. Perfect. Quieter. More impressive.
Where her friends smiled through clenched teeth while silently competing behind her back.
Where her ex-boyfriend? Don’t even get her started. The man was a walking red flag with good hair.
Ew. Just ew. Real life sucked. Her past life sucked.
She gently looked down.
Glimora was curled up in her arms, fast asleep, the softest little breath leaving her twitching nose. Her fur glowed under the faint light, and Isabella instinctively pulled her closer.
Her baby had waited so long. Through everything. Loyal. Sweet. Exhausted.
Her heart clenched again.
Then she remembered.
The system.
That annoying, cheeky, forever-scheming goat.
Her lips twitched as she summoned it mentally.
"Bubuuuuuuuuuuuu," she sang in her head, dragging the name as long as possible just to be petty.
A cheerful, way-too-happy voice answered instantly.
"How is the host doing?"
"You think I don’t know you were that goat?" Isabella muttered, eyes narrowing.
And then—
A long, like a really longggggggg pause followed.