They both looked up at the shadow looming over the grave's edge, frozen in a state of paralyzed disbelief. It was Isabella—but not the Isabella they remembered. She was a specter born of the dark, her silhouette jagged and her presence heavy with the scent of iron and earth.
Leon surged out of the pit with the grace of a predator, catching her in a desperate, bone-crushing embrace. His hands shook with a primal terror he could no longer hide, his breath hitching against her neck. But Isabella remained stiff, a statue of cold marble in his arms. She could not return the gesture; his arrival was the one thing she feared most. It meant the veil had been torn, her secrets exposed to the light. Her eyes, wide and haunted, darted past him to anchor on Olivia.
