The phone rings.
Once.
The sound slices clean through the quiet, sharp enough that my shoulders tense before my mind catches up. I stare at the screen like it has teeth, like it might bite if I look at it too long.
Twice.
My thumb hovers over the glass. Skin cold. Pulse loud enough that I swear it bleeds into the room, thudding in my ears, in my throat, everywhere. The name on the screen feels heavier than it should. Familiar in a way that no longer feels safe. Familiar in a way that still knows where to dig.
I should let it ring out.
I do not.
I answer before I can think better of it.
“Hello?”
His voice is real.
Immediate.
Unprepared.
There is no distance in it. No edge of motion. No breathless tension that would tell me he is running or hunting or searching. He does not sound
