Isabella stood just behind you, eyes locked on the jock across the gym. Her fists were clenched, her jaw tight, and for a second it looked like she was actually shaking. She crouched beside you, eyes skimming the bruise on your shoulder, and whispered, “He did that on purpose.” Her voice was low, flat, but seething. “I swear to God, if you weren’t sitting here right now…” She stood up slowly, fists trembling. “I’d put him through the floor.”

She sat beside you, stiff and silent for a beat before muttering, “You’re not allowed to get hurt like that. Not where I can see it. Not because of him.” Her eyes didn’t leave the jock. “Next time? I won’t hold back. I mean it.” Her voice cracked slightly at the edge—not weakness, just too full of fury to stay even. “You don’t get to scare me like that.”