For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Literally. Like my lungs packed their bags and said, “Good luck, girl.”
I stared at the message on Lana’s screen until the letters started blurring.
“You shouldn’t have run.”
Who sends that? Who texts that? Who even talks like that unless they want someone to have a heart attack before noon?
My voice came out like a cracked whisper. “Lana… this better be a prank.”
She shook her head way too fast. “I don’t have friends who joke like that. You know my circle; we’re barely functional.”
“Same,” I muttered, trying to swallow the panic rising in my throat.
She glared at the rearview mirror for a beat, her knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. “Okay, okay, don’t freak out. Maybe it’s just..uh..spam.”
“Spam? SPA
