Calla’s POV
My phone screen lit up like a disaster alert—twenty-three missed calls, forty-seven text messages, and a voicemail box that had given up accepting new entries.
The most recent text from Sofia made my heart clench: *Calla, please just let me know you’re alive. The news is saying you’re a person of interest, and nobody knows where you are.*
I hit Sofia’s number, and she answered before the first ring finished.
“Calla? Oh my God, is that really you?”
“It’s me. I’m okay, I’m safe—”
“Where the hell have you been? The FBI came to my apartment, Calla. The actual FBI.” Sofia’s voice cracked with relief and anger. “I’ve been calling hospitals, morgues—”
“Sofia, breathe. I’m fine.”
“Fine? You disappeared after some kind of courthouse shootout, and you think ‘I’m fine’ covers
