"Who the hell is that?" Yemi's eyes dart from the phone when his voice breaks the stillness. I just fell face-first onto the kitchen counter. He doesn't appear particularly irate, but there's a deeper quality to the way he observes me, as if he's already piecing things together in his head. I can no longer lie to him. Not after everything.
"I don’t know," I respond, attempting to speak steadily, but my voice still shakes. "It was just a random number."
He purses his lips. "You should’ve told me."
The statement, "I didn’t think it was important," is a lie I tell. I understand his thoughts. He believes that Desmond or someone else is attempting to deceive us with some sort of ruse or game. This feels different, though. That voice's coldness and earnestness weren't Desmond's. or anybody el
