The water running down my skin had turned from scalding hot to a freezing, stinging cold, but I barely felt it. I stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in a thick, white terry-cloth robe that felt heavy against my tired limbs. The dampness clung to me, a physical weight that mirrored the suffocating pressure in my chest.
As I walked back into the bedroom, my eyes were instantly drawn to the small vanity table in the corner. Through the dark, heavy shadows of the room, a tiny, rhythmic light was pulsing from the bottom drawer. It wasn't the steady, comforting blue light from our previous transmissions—the one that used to promise a lifeline, an escape, a sense of belonging. It was a sharp, aggressive, bleeding red.
An emergency call.
My heart turned to an absolute block of ice, the
