The world outside Gigi’s window felt muted, as though even the city had chosen silence.
The faint hum of traffic below didn’t reach her; the only sound in her apartment was the slow tick of the clock on the kitchen wall — mocking, steady, unforgiving.
She had been staring at her phone for almost an hour.
Last message: Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got it handled.
Two days ago.
She’d told herself not to panic. Jason was busy. Jason always had crises to handle, people to command, fires to put out. But something about this silence felt heavier — not just the kind of buzz that came with power, but the kind of distance that came with fear.
Her thumb hovered over the screen again.
No new messages. No missed calls.
Sultana’s voice from earlier in the day still echoed in her mind:
“Girl, if the
