Nora sat on the edge of her couch, the business card burning a hole in her hand. Evan Callahan. Private Investigations. The name looked sharp enough to cut her open.
Her thumb hovered over the phone screen, the digits already typed. Just one tap and the line would connect.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. She wasn’t sure if she was about to save herself—or destroy everything she’d been clinging to.
The silence in the apartment mocked her, every tick of the clock echoing like a countdown.
Finally, with a shaky inhale, she pressed Call.
The dial tone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
On the fourth, a low, steady voice answered:
“Callahan.”
Nora’s throat went dry. She couldn’t speak at first. The name on the card felt heavier in her hand.
“This… this is Nora Clemente ,” she managed.
