Day Six
The hallway was long and shadowed, humming faintly with the echoes of the arena beyond. Ryder’s fingers locked around Isobel’s, anchoring her to him as if the world itself were shifting beneath their feet. She leaned into his chest, forehead pressed to the soft black cotton stretched across him, listening to the steady thunder of his heart.
He lifted his right hand and with a slow, deliberate touch, tilted her chin until her lips brushed his. His voice was low, worn smooth with New York steel yet softened by Tennessee drawl.
“What’s on your mind, darlin’?” Ryder asked, his thumb tracing her cheek as though memorizing the lines of her face.
Her lip trembled, words breaking under the weight of her fear. “Please—please promise you’ll come back to me.”
Ryder folded her in, arms a
