Ava
The message came at 2:13 a.m. My phone vibrated so violently on my nightstand that it startled me out of my half-sleep. I blinked into the darkness, the soft glow of the screen the only light in my apartment. My thumb hesitated over the screen, heart already thudding in that way it did when I knew, when instinct screamed that whatever waited was going to shatter me.
I unlocked it.
There was no text. Just an image. And then another. And another.
I felt my throat close up.
There we were. Me and Mike. From three years ago. The hazy, neon-lit club in Prague. His arm slung around my waist, my head tilted back in laughter, his mouth on my throat in the next frame. And then the final photo, which my hand was grabbing him into that hotel. My fingers laced with his like we couldn’t wait to
