Honey and the Blade

I take a slow sip of my iced matcha and glance at the time on the glowing shop window beside me.

Yep. Definitely late. Again.

But the sun is shining, my dress is swishing just right, and the city smells like fresh bread and morning gossip, so honestly, can anyone blame me?

I wave to an old werewolf couple sitting outside the bakery and twirl through a crosswalk like I have nowhere better to be.

Because right now, I don't.

Well — except for anatomy class. And the part where my parents will actually murder me if I miss another lecture.

But that's future Isla's problem.

I stop to pet an old labrador that waddles out from the flower shop. I should be in a hurry, but to be honest, today is such a beautiful day that I don't really care.

By the time I reach the university gates, the clock on the tower is already accusing me of being incredibly late. Students hurry past me, clutching books and muttering about lab coats and midterms. I just... stop.

I could go in. I could find a seat at the back, nod politely at the professor, pretend I care about the skeletal system.

But instead, I slip off my shoes and step barefoot onto the green lawn just beyond the lecture hall. The grass is warm, the sun is melting on my skin, and birds are singing somewhere up in the trees.

I lie down, arms stretched wide, eyes half closed, and smile.

"I'll study later," I whisper to no one. "Probably."

The sky above me is a soft kind of blue, the kind that makes everything feel distant and slow. Bees buzz lazily nearby, and I twirl a daisy between my fingers, humming a song I can't remember the words to.

My phone buzzes. I ignore it.

Then it buzzes again. And again.

With a groan, I pull it out of my bag, blinking at the blinding screen.

Alaric: Are you in class?
Alaric: Mom said the school sent another attendance alert.
Alaric: You promised.

I sigh and type back one-handed, the other arm still flung behind my head.

Me: I'm learning. Just not about bones.

He replies instantly.

Alaric: ISLA.

My brothers are sweet, in that annoying overbearing way that makes them think they're my third, fourth, and fifth parents. It's exhausting, and endearing. But mostly exhausting.

Alaric, the oldest, is basically a second dad with better hair. He's thirty now, practically ancient, and somehow manages to be both the most responsible person I know and the most uptight. If my parents are the king and queen of expectations, Alaric is their loyal general, always watching, always ready to make sure I'm "on track."

He means well. He really does. He's kind in his own way, the kind of man who would burn down the city for me without blinking. But I share the least with him. He wouldn't understand the skipping or the sunbathing or the quiet panic in my chest every time someone asks me what I want to do with my life. He'd just lecture me, gently but firmly, like I'm another report to file.

Still, he's my brother. Reliable. Protective. Unshakeable. A little too unshakeable.

I close my eyes again, soaking in every drop of sun. I don't know what I want to do with my life. I'm just twenty. Isn't that the whole point? But apparently, being a Kincaid means I have to know. I have to study medicine. I have to sit in that lecture hall and memorize every tendon in the human body.