Trauma doesn't heal in a straight line. It lingers like a shadow, a quiet predator that follows Isabelle everywhere, especially now, when she's back in Thailand. Because she knows Kritsana is in Thailand.
To most people, she's flawless. All poise, elegance, and warmth. The soft smile, the perfect posture, the carefully chosen words—she wears them like armor, instinctively slipping into the routine polished into her during flight attendant training. "Always smile, always stand tall, and never show your passengers fear."
But Isabelle is not fine; she steps away from the crowd now and then, pretending to answer a call or fix her lipstick, but really, she's just trying to breathe. Inhale. Count to four. Hold it. Exhale. Again. And again. It's what her psychiatrist taught her after the incident. "Ground yourself. Anchor your body to the present."
