Page 41 of The Scout

She didn’t know why I was really here.

And she sure as hell didn’t know what I had to tell her.

I exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the table to ground myself. “Isabel,” I started, my voice lower than I intended.

She looked up, something flickering in her green eyes—something unguarded, something that shouldn’t have been there.

I pushed forward anyway. “It’s about Will.”

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw the change. Her entire body went still, her fingers freezing mid-tap against the glass. Her breath hitched, her eyes widening in that split second before she schooled her face into something unreadable.

But I knew.

I always knew.

“What about Will?” she asked, her voice deceptively steady.

I didn’t sugarcoat it. “He never made it to the airport.”

She blinked. Once. Twice. Like she hadn’t processed what I said. Then she shook her head. “No, that’s not—he was on his way. He called me. He told me he was going?—”

“He didn’t make it,” I said firmly. “He’s missing.”

Panic hit her like a freight train. Her chest rose and fell too fast, her breathing sharp, uneven. Her fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms like she could ground herself if she just held on hard enough.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head again. “No, no, no?—”

I reached for her.

“Isabel.”

She flinched away.

And then—she screamed.

A raw, broken sound ripped from her throat, slicing through the heavy bass of the club’s music like a fucking gunshot. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. The closest tables went dead silent, eyes flicking toward us with the kind of hesitation people have when they’re not sure if they should intervene.

And then came the bouncers.

Three of them moved fast, cutting through the crowd, their massive frames forcing a path toward us. I barely had time to process it before Isabel—fuck—somehow slipped away.

I caught a flash of dark hair, a blur of movement, and then she was gone, shoving through the stunned crowd, her panicked breaths barely audible over the music.

I surged to follow, but the bouncers stepped in, blocking my way.

I could have taken them. Could have plowed through, left them bleeding on the floor if I really wanted to. But they weren’t threats. They were just doing their job.

And Isabel was getting away.

“Step back, sir,” one of them ordered, his voice firm, unreadable. His stance was wide, feet planted like he was ready to throw me to the ground if he had to.

I clenched my fists, heart hammering, my pulse still roaring in my ears from the scent of Isabel lingering in my head, from the panic I’d just put in her eyes.

I couldn’t fucking lose her.

One of the bouncers grabbed my arm. Bad move. I turned sharply, about to rip my arm free, when?—

“Wait,” another voice cut in.

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