Ryan didn’t remember the drive.
He remembered the moment he realised Eve’s phone was switched off.
He remembered the way his house sounded when it was too empty.
He remembered Marlene’s voice on the line, she was home when I left, and the way those words had turned his stomach because they meant Eve hadn’t simply gone out on a whim.
Then time became a blur of movement and cold, controlled terror.
He changed his shirt without knowing why, like looking put together could control a world that was tearing open. He checked the rooms again, like repetition would bring her back. He called her again, like the fifth attempt would do what the first four couldn’t.
Switched off.
Switched off.
Switched off.
The panic in him wasn’t loud. Ryan’s panic never was. It was precise, sharp, narrowing,
