“Arga… I need to talk to you.”

Deviana’s voice trembled as she stared at her phone screen. Her palms were damp, fingers nearly slipping as she pressed Arga’s name in her contacts list.

Her apartment was the same as always—silent, suffocating, with a vase of red roses on the table staring at her like a cruel reminder.

The dial tone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Yes, Deviana? Why are you calling at this hour?” Arga’s voice finally came through—deep but warm, making Deviana want to cry with relief.

But before she could answer, there was a faint click in her ear, as if someone else had joined the call. A...