Margaux
The door clicked shut, leaving me in the quiet of the small room. I let out a long, slow breath, my shoulders dropping as the tension of the last hour finally drained away.
I knelt by my canvas bag and began pulling out my few spare shirts. Near the bottom, my fingers brushed against something hard and wrapped in soft cloth.
I pulled it out. It was the phone Celia had promised.
It wasn't the old, battered button-phone I was used to carrying. The front was a seamless pane of glass, wide and smooth, reflecting the light from the small window. It looked modern, expensive, and completely foreign. I turned it over in my hand, staring at the dark screen.
"I have no idea how to use this," I muttered, setting it carefully on the corner of the wooden washstand before going back to my
