Cole’s hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles went white. Beside him, Evie had gone perfectly, deathly still.
“Cole,” her voice was barely a whisper, “What does it say?”
Cole’s thumb hovered over the screen. Every instinct told him to lie, to soften it, to protect her from the words glowing back at him. But he’d promised himself on that rooftop he wouldn’t do that anymore.
"Read it yourself." He handed her the phone.
Evie's hands were steady—too steady, the kind of stillness he'd learned meant she was holding herself together through sheer will. She read the four words twice. Her jaw tightened.
"That's his phrasing," she said. "Not the words exactly. But the rhythm of it. Short. Absolute. He does that—cuts sentences down to the bone so there's no room to argue." She handed th
