I let out a short laugh. It dawned on me that it’s been so long since I laughed.
“Does prison intake count?”
His mouth twitched.
“Not exactly.”
“Then no.”
He nodded.
“Good. Means you won’t sound rehearsed.”
“Comforting.”
“Honest,” he corrected.
I looked down at my phone again.
The number pulled up on the screen.
A regional investigative reporter, Blaze, had recommended.
Someone with reach.
Someone who didn’t scare easily.
“Once I do this…” I said quietly, “There’s no going back.”
Ace’s voice was calm.
“There wasn’t the second that video surfaced.”
Yeah.
He was right.
I took a breath.
Then hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times—
“Sarah Whitman.”
My throat tightened for half a second.
Then I pushed through it.
“My name is Tessa Bloom,” I said.
“And I think you’ve been looking for my story.”
Silence.
