I stared at the message until the words blurred, some cold, unfamiliar dread settling low in my stomach.
"Who sends something like that," I said quietly, more to myself than to Noah. "Not the reporter… different number, different tone entirely. This isn't someone digging for a story. This sounds like someone who already knows something, and wants me to go start a fire they don't have to light themselves."
Noah took the phone from my hand, studying the message with the same careful, assessing focus he gave everything that threatened to spiral out of his control. "This isn't information. It's provocation. Whoever sent this wants a reaction, not a conversation."
"But what if it's true?" My voice came out smaller than I meant it to. "What if my mother actually does know something, and someo
