Tides
Morning light poured weakly through the hotel curtains, pale and tired after a long night. Lorraine rubbed her eyes and sat up, listening for sounds in the suite. Rhyan was already awake, her strawberry curls pulled into a messy bun, hunched over her phone with a worried frown.
“She’s still not back,” Rhyan said, not even looking up.
Lorraine’s stomach sank. “Betsy?”
“Yeah. Her bed hasn’t been touched. And no texts, nothing.” Rhyan finally glanced up, worry etched into her face. “I mean, sure, she disappears sometimes, but not all night. Not like this.”
Lorraine reached for her phone and dialed Betsy’s number. It rang, rang, then flipped to voicemail. Betsy’s voice was bright and shallow as always: ‘Hey, it’s Betsy! You know what to do—’ Lorraine hung up before the beep.
“Still
