Wren's hands fumbled as she hit redial for the third time. The call to Hazel rang twice… and then—
Click.
Disconnected.
She blinked, disoriented.
"What the hell?" she whispered.
She tried again. This time, a cold robotic voice greeted her:
"The number you have dialed is currently unavailable…"
"No," Wren muttered, pacing outside the café. "No, no, no…"
She hit dial again. Still nothing.
Panic clawed its way into her throat.
Hazel never turned off her phone. Even when upset. Even when angry.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Wren's thoughts spiraled. Her chest tightened, her eyes stung. She could feel her pulse in her throat. Every second of silence on the other end of the line felt like a blow to her ribs.
She remembered Hazel's face earlier—the worry, the tenderness in her eyes—and how she'd ignored it. How she'd snapped. How she'd bolted out without a word. As if Hazel didn't matter.
"God, I'm such an asshole," she whispered, voice cracking.
