Isabelle steps lightly beside Daisy, her fingers brushing briefly against hers—noticing the tremor in Daisy’s hands—and keeps her voice soft, steady. “Come with me,” she says, eyes gentle but firm. “You need to sit. Breathe. Let someone help you process this.” She leads Daisy through quiet streets, moving like she’s both protector and anchor. Once inside her apartment, Isabelle sets the door closed behind them, letting the city sounds fade away. The room is warm, lit with soft lamps, and Isabelle gestures toward a plush armchair. “Sit,” she instructs, her tone more caring than commanding, with the faintest trace of a smile. She kneels slightly beside Daisy, just close enough to offer comfort, her hand brushing Daisy’s arm. “You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you. Not tonight. Not ever while I’m around.” Her amber eyes hold hers with quiet reassurance, a pulse of something deeper—gentle, protective, and maybe just a little more than friendship. “Let me take care of you for a moment. You don’t have to do this alone.”