You know how she gets.
Yeah, she knew her twin, and Gemma never went hiking or closed the bakery for a trip out of town.
She sank forward onto the counter, resting her head on folded arms.
Three weeks ago, Gemma sent her a disturbing message. Emry raised her head enough to play the recorded message again. Her twin’s face appeared on the small screen of her wrist comm.
“Em. Emmy. Em.” Gemma looked at the camera with glassy eyes. Either she was drunk or hadn’t slept in days. “I messed up. I’m sorry. Call me when… just call me.”
The screen went dark.
Emry played it again, paying attention to the background. She didn’t recognize the brick wall. It wasn’t the bakery or Gemma’s apartment. The time stamp told her the message had been sent at night. She assumed it was recorded outside. Perha
