She knows, Isabel thought, and flushed from the inside out—mortified, a shuddering shame at something she couldn’t name. She pushed her head out the window into the chilling evening, hoping the air would take it away from her. That night, she woke up with the dredges of a dream still hot in her mouth: a pooling heat in her belly, the drag of a hand, the puff of breath on her neck. She thought someone had been in her room, but there was no one. There was only she.
