Scout’s POV
"Answer me," I whispered, slamming my thumb against the glass screen.
The glowing display showed my father’s contact name. I had been staring at those seven letters for ten minutes, watching the battery percentage tick down. The digital clock felt wrong. The seconds rushed past, yet each beat dragged like lead.
I pressed the call icon.
The line hummed. A single, hollow ring echoed against my ear. A second ring started, cut short by a sharp, electronic click. Then nothing but the flat tone of a dead line. It had hit a wall.
My fingers twitched, slick with sweat. I forced myself to tap the button again. The exact same silence followed. The call connected for a fraction of a second before the network ripped it away.
My hands shook so badly the phone slipped, clicking against
