It was 4am. The sharp, incessant ringing of Arthur's phone cut through the silence of his room like an unwanted alarm. At first, he tried to ignore it—rolling over on the bed and burying his head beneath the pillow—but it kept slicing through the stillness, louder with each ring. With a groggy sigh, he reached over and snatched the phone from the nightstand.
Seventeen missed calls.
All from an unknown number.
A sinking feeling took root in his stomach. Why would someone call seventeen times? he thought. Only two kinds of people called at that hour—someone in trouble… or someone determined to cause it.
He called back without thinking.
“Hey Arthuurrrr,” a familiar, overly cheerful voice drawled from the other end. “You finally got a hold of your phone.”
Arthur stiffened. That voice. He
