Silver Heart

Freya POV The phone buzzed against the nightstand, cutting through the quiet of my room. Unknown Number. My thumb hovered over the screen. Nobody called this late. Not without a reason, and none of the reasons I could think of were good. I should've let it ring out. My finger swiped to answer anyway, some stupid, nagging need to know winning out over the part of me that wanted to shove the phone under my pillow and pretend I hadn't seen it. "Hello?" Nobody said anything. Just breathing, slow and even, like they weren't in any hurry, like they wanted me sitting there listening to it. My skin crawled with how wrong it felt. "Hello?" Sharper this time. "Silver Heart." A voice, low, half-buried in static. Then the line went dead. My hand dropped into my lap. I stared at the screen like it might explain itself. It didn't. I called back, thumb shaking a little on the redial button. This number is no longer in service. Probably a wrong number. Some prank, a glitch, nothing more than that. I didn't believe it. Not really. But I needed to believe something, so I grabbed onto that. My hands wouldn't sit still, so I opened my contacts and hit Dad's name. One ring. Two. Five. Straight to voicemail. “You've reached Marcus Forbes—” I hung up before the recorded voice could finish. My chest pulled tight under my ribs. Dad always picked up. Always. Even at midnight, even mid-meeting, he'd text back within the minute. Is everything okay? I texted him anyway. Call me when you can. Please. Then I sat there, knees to my chest, phone clutched in both hands, waiting for the screen to light up. It didn't. Ten minutes crawled by like that. Me watching the phone. The phone doing nothing. Then I couldn't sit still anymore and started pacing instead, my bare feet cold against the floorboards. Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Too fast. Too loud for eleven at night.My door flew open before I could ask who was there. Esther stood in the frame, one hand braced against the wood like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her cardigan hung crooked off one shoulder. Her eyes were red and wet. The sight of her, steady, unshakeable Esther, who'd raised me since I was six, cracked open like this. It hit harder than anything she was about to say. "Freya." My name came out in two broken pieces. "What happened?" I was already on my feet. "It's your father." Esther's hand pressed flat against her chest, like she was trying to hold something in. "There's been an accident." The floor tilted under me. "What kind of accident?" My voice didn't sound like mine. Esther crossed the room and reached for my hands. Hers were ice, trembling worse than mine. "Freya, sweetheart, sit down—" "Just tell me. Where is he? Is he at the hospital?" Her face crumpled. That was the answer. "No." The word tore out before I could stop it. "No, he was fine this morning. He made me coffee. He said—" My throat closed around the rest. "I'm so sorry." Esther reached for me again, and this time I let her, my legs not holding me right, the floor gone soft and strange under my feet. They'd called the house phone. She hadn't wanted me hearing it from a stranger's voice on the other end of a line. "I want to see him." "Freya—" "I need to see him, Esther. Right now." I stepped back, out of her arms, grabbed my jacket off the chair. My hands wouldn't cooperate, but I got it on. "Take me to him. Please." Esther's mouth opened, like she meant to argue, to shield me the way she'd shielded me from every hard thing since I was small enough to believe she could keep the bad things out. Something in my face stopped her. She nodded once. "Get your shoes." The morgue smelled like bleach over something colder underneath. Fluorescent light buzzed overhead, harsh and white. A man in scrubs led us down a hallway that felt too long. Esther's hand stayed locked around mine the whole way. The attendant stopped at a steel table and drew back the sheet. Dad. His face had gone slack, drained of the warmth that used to live there. I made myself really look at the gray of his skin, the stillness where breath should have been. My knees buckled. I locked them and stayed up. I wasn't going to look away. He deserved that much from me. The first sob broke out of me before I even knew it was coming. Then another. Esther's arms came around me from behind, and I let myself shake against her, ugly and loud, not caring who heard. "I'm so sorry for your loss." The attendant's voice came from somewhere far off. He held out a small manila envelope. "These were his personal effects." My fingers closed around it on their own. Inside: his wallet, his watch, a folded scrap of paper worn soft at the creases, like it had been carried for years. I wiped my face with the back of my wrist and unfolded it. Two words, in handwriting I didn't recognize. Silver Heart. The same two words from the phone. The paper shook in my hand. I turned it over, looking for more. A date. A name. Anything. The back was blank. "Esther." My voice barely made it out. Esther went still. Then she looked down at the paper, and every bit of color drained out of her face. "Where did you hear those words?" she whispered.