Something was off.
I couldn't shake the feeling, even as I tried to focus on the mundane—folding the sheets, refilling the vase in the corner, watching the sunlight spill across the marble floor. Everything looked normal, almost too normal.
But deep down, my chest wouldn't stop tightening.
Maybe it was the call.
Maybe it was Roberto's voice still echoing in my head.
I kept replaying it, word for word. The desperation in his tone. The silence before he said my name.
I shouldn't have answered. I knew better. I'd been warned a hundred times to stay invisible, to not use my phone, to keep communication off every traceable grid.
And yet… I did.
Now the guilt was crawling up my throat like smoke.
