Every detail in the room sharpened.
Curtain edge.
Green lamp.
Marlowe’s breathing.
Phone.
Five calls.
Diane’s voice returning through written words.
I put the phone face down.
Then picked it up again.
Stress protocol.
Name the signs.
Headache rising.
Hands cold.
Thought narrowing.
Choices becoming impossible.
I called Reid.
He answered on the first ring.
“What happened?”
“My phone.”
“I’m coming.”
He was beside the bed less than a minute later.
I held out the phone.
“Her.”
He did not touch it immediately.
“Do you want me to read?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to know what they say?”
“No.”
He took the phone.
His jaw tightened as he read, but his voice remained calm.
