**LILA POV**
I receive the call without warning.
My phone lights up with his name, no lead up, no missed calls stacked before it. Just Derek, present and unavoidable. I stare at the screen for half a second longer than necessary, already feeling the shift before I accept the call. I answer because ignoring it would only delay what is already moving toward me.
He does not ask how I am.
He does not ask if I am busy.
“Come to the packhouse,” he says.
The phrasing is not a request. Not even dressed up as one. It is clean. Direct. Finished before I have a chance to interrupt or object or anchor myself in politeness.
I recognize the shift immediately. Not in his voice exactly, but in what it carries. Intention stripped of courtesy. Authority applied without pressure, which is always more
