The hollow ticking of the clock echoed through the dimly lit apartment, each passing second intensifying the ache gnawing at my insides. I paced the room, unable to focus on a single thought.
I couldn’t rest knowing Timothy was locked away somewhere, unable to defend his innocence against a narrative already going against him. I needed answers, reassurance that he was alright. But the deafening silence offered no solace.
With trembling fingers, I dialed my mother’s number, and there was a rush of relief when she answered. “Mom, hi.”
The line crackled before her voice pierced through, unusually cold and distant. “Evie, I was just about to call you. I’m outside waiting for you.”
“Outside? Why?” I asked, my heart pounding against the mounting dread. “What's going on? Is this about Timothy
