“You still there?”
“Yes,” I say, voice low, steady by force alone. “I’m here.”
The safehouse answers for me...dead quiet, the kind that presses against your eardrums until you swear you can hear your own pulse ricocheting off the walls. The phone crackles, static riding Ivy’s breath like a lie pretending to be a signal. She doesn’t answer right away.
She never does when she wants control.
Silence is her first weapon. Always has been.
Outside, Christmas lights blink against the frost-lined window. Red. Green. Red. Like a countdown I never agreed to start. Somewhere down the block, a carols playlist bleeds through cheap speakers...Silent Night, warped and off-key. The irony is sharp enough to draw blood.
“I didn’t think you’d pick up,” Ivy finally says.
“You called,” I reply. “That us
