Maylen woke with the taste of salt still in her mouth and a voicemail replaying in the hollow of her head: “You shouldn’t have come alone. Next time, bring someone who can keep a secret.” The voice wasn’t loud—purposefully casual—but it sat in her like a splinter.
Her phone was dark on the nightstand, one new notification pulsing like a small, accusatory heart. She stared at it for a long, lazy minute like someone trying to read a foreign language. Then she flipped on the lamp and swung her legs out of bed.
The apartment smelled faintly of boiled coffee and the ghost of last night’s perfume. She padded to the dresser and froze: the little glass bottle she’d handed Lanry on the pier was back where she always kept it—neat, whole, the nozzle intact. She did not remember bringing it home. Sh
