It was already late in the afternoon when someone called Atticus on his phone. I watched him from across the room, munching on a leftover suman while absently rubbing my growing belly. His expression shifted the moment he answered calmly and collectely on the outside, but there was that unmistakable tension in his jaw, the kind of stiffness he only showed when something serious was going on.
He didn’t say much during the call, just a few curt words, but when it ended, he lowered the phone slowly and turned to me with a look that made my chest tighten.
“They need me in Makati,” he said in a low, serious voice. “You’re coming with me.”
Napalingon ako agad sa kanya, kunot-noo at halos mapatayo sa pagkakaupo ko. “Ano?! Atticus, ayoko! Wala sa usapan natin ‘yan.”
“Plans change,” he replied,
