(Kaelen)
The phone rings at six-seventeen in the morning.
I know the time because I've been awake for forty-three minutes, watching the ceiling, listening to Theron breathe. He's still asleep—actually asleep, which doesn't happen often, and I've been trying not to move, trying not to wake him, trying not to think about the dream I was having when my eyes opened.
The phone rings and he's awake before the second chime. Hand already reaching. Voice already level.
"Yes."
I watch his face.
Whatever he hears, his expression doesn't change—not visibly, not to someone who wasn't looking for the micro-shift in his jaw, the way his thumb presses into the side of the phone hard enough to whiten the knuckle.
"She's where," he says.
A pause.
"How long."
Another pause.
He looks at me.
"Send
