The phone felt like a live wire in my hand.
Enzo stood across the kitchen, arms crossed, watching me hold it like it might bite. Charlotte was on the living room floor, cross-legged in front of a coloring book Sofia had dropped off the day before, humming something tuneless and happy. She hadn't hummed like that in months.
"You need to turn it off," Enzo said. "For good."
"It's just a phone."
"It's a leash." He said it plainly, no cruelty in it, just fact. "Every phone pings a tower. Every tower knows where it is. You think a man with Bruce's money doesn't have someone who can pull that data?"
I looked down at the screen. My lock screen was still a photo of Charlotte at two, gap-toothed and laughing, a photo from before I understood that every soft thing in my life had a price tag on
