“I… okay,” I said finally. “Just for a bit.”
There was a pause on the line, like Ethan had expected resistance but not surrender.
“I can come pick you up,” he offered.
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “No. I don’t want anyone asking questions.”
Another pause.
Then his voice again, calm, measured. “Alright, walk down to Gabby’s café. A driver will be waiting for you in a black sedan. Plate number ends with seven-three-four. Only get in if it matches.”
Something about the precision of it settled me.
“Okay,” I said.
When the call ended, I stood still for a moment, phone pressed to my chest, wondering when something as simple as lunch had started feeling like a decision with consequences.
I didn’t let myself think too much after that.
I rushed into the bathroom, shower
