For one frozen second I stare at it.
Then my brain catches up.
“Shit.”
I jab at the screen to end it.
Too late.
The call connects.
There is silence.
Then a rough, sleep-thick voice says, “Mark?”
Everything in me stops.
Not because of the word.
Because of how he says it.
Soft. Confused. Barely awake.
Like my name has slipped out of him before any of his defences have had time to get dressed.
I watch the world outside the kitchen window.
Grey morning. Sea beyond. Heath warm against my chest.
“Sorry,” I say. My voice comes out lower than expected. “That was an accident.”
A pause.
“What time is it?”
“Half five here.”
Another pause.
Then, more awake, “Mark.”
“I know.”
“It’s half past midnight here.”
“I know.”
“You accidentally rang me at half past midnight.”
“Yes.”
“That’s either very clumsy or very concerning.”
I huff a quiet laugh.
“Heath was involved.”
“Of course he was.”
