Blackjack
She tilted her head slightly, studying them.
One doll sat apart from the others.
“Not you,” she murmured, adjusting it with quiet precision. “You don’t belong there.”
Her small fingers moved with surprising certainty, placing each figure exactly where she wanted them. A game, to anyone else. But to Isabella, it was something else—control. Structure. A world where nothing happened unless she allowed it.
“Isabella,” her mother called again, a little firmer this time, though still gentle. “Now.”
Chapitres populaires