“Next,” he says.
I call Danny.
He answers before the first ring finishes. “Isa! Where the hell are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Thehellyou are! You vanish, your editor’s calling me, Dad’s losing his mind—”
“I can’t say where I am,” I interrupt.
“The fuck you can’t! Isa, listen to me—if someone’s forcing you—”
“No one’s forcing me.” The lie tastes bitter.
“Then come home.”
“I can’t,” I repeat.
He curses, long and loud. “At least tell me who you’re with.”
“I’m safe,” I say again, quieter now.
He exhales hard. “You’ve got to stop doing this. You can’t keep chasing stories that put you in a grave.”
“Danny—”
“I mean it, Isa. Whatever this is—it’s not worth it.”
The words twist something in me, but I don’t let him hear it. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”
He mutters something under his breath, and I hang up.
I set the phone on my lap and stare at the screen until it goes dark.
Dante watches me in silence.
“You didn’t tell him where you are,” he says finally.
“No.”
“Why?”
“So he wouldn’t worry.”
He frowns. “You think hiding the truth keeps people from worrying?”
“It does when the truth would terrify them.”
He studies me for a long moment, unreadable. Then his voice softens, barely above a whisper. “Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?”
The question throws me. “Should I be?”
“No.” His gaze hardens, and there’s something raw there. “I would take my own life before I let that happen.”
I swallow, the lump in my throat heavy. “Well,” I say quietly, “there’s your answer.”
Neither of us moves. The silence between us feels alive.
