One message.
Brianna.
My heart stops, then starts wrong.
Stop looking for me.
Four words. No heart. No explanation.
No “T.”
My knees go soft.
“She’s alive,” I whisper. “I think… I mean, of course she is.”
Shadow’s hand closes over the phone before I can hit call.
I jerk back. “Don’t.”
“You call, they trace, record, listen, or bait you into saying exactly where you are.”
“It’s Brianna.”
“Maybe.”
The word slaps harder than I expect.
Maybe.
I grip the phone tighter. “Give it back.”
His eyes hold mine, steady and grim.
“No.”
Anger cuts through the panic so fast I almost welcome it.
“She told me to stop looking for her.”
“I can read.”
“She’s scared.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop saying that.”
His jaw flexes. “Then stop treating a text like proof.”
The screen glows between us.
Stop looking for me.
Four words.
And somehow, they scare me more than the gunfire.
My vision blurs.
