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There’s a long pause.

Finally, another message comes through.

Chaos: I'm not planning anything.

Bullshit.

Me: You’re always planning something.

Chaos: That's hurtful.

Me: It's accurate.

Nothing.

I stare at the phone.

Chaos: Fine.

I don't believe that for a fucking second.

Me: Chaos.

No response.

I know I shouldn’t, but I do it anyway.

I call her.

It goes straight to voicemail.

My jaw clenches.

I call again.

Get her voicemail again.

“Goddammit.”

Mercer pulls away from the curb.

I can't stay here.

I put the truck in gear.

My phone vibrates.

Chaos: Can't talk. Busy.

Of course she fucking is.

Me: Doing what?

No answer.

Me: Callie.

Nothing.