The voice message remained on the table.
Clara replayed it, even though she'd already listened to it three times before she brushed her teeth. Four more wrapped around a worn coffee mug with a cracked surface. And once—just once—standing in front of her mirror, in clothes but not knowing where the day had to start.
"Because you didn't ask for my picture…"
She could sense the constraint in his tone. The faint coarseness, as though he wasn't sure whether he should be saying it out loud. The type of pause that only occurred because he meant every single word.
She'd known that voice longer than anyone she'd known for years.
And still, she didn't recognize his face.
That reality curled up under her skin, not fear—heat. Low, puzzling pain that made her uneasy in her own body. As though she
