Sandra’s POV
I stare at the message for ten straight minutes, letting the screen go dark and waking it again, because the question isn’t difficult to answer, the problem is that I already know the answer and I don’t want to see it written out loud.
I set the phone face down on my desk, thirty seconds later I pick it up again and the message is still there.
My architecture sketches sit spread across my desk. Measurements, drafts, deadlines. Things that should matter more than this.
Instead I’m staring at a text from Austin’s father. I grab my pencil and force myself to work.
One line then another then I erase both. The sketch looks worse than before. I shove the pencil aside and my phone lights up with Austin messages. *Where are you?* Another message arrives. *We need to start discuss
