The phone shakes in my hand.
Then the mug slips from my other hand.
It hits the floor and shatters.
He’s on me immediately.
“What is it?”
I can’t speak.
“Violet.”
“They took her,” I whisper.
His expression changes.
Hardens.
“Who?”
“My friend. Lyla.”
He takes the phone and reads the texts.
His face doesn’t explode with anger.
It goes blank.
That scares me more.
“They really took her,” I say again.
“That address isn’t an invitation,” he says. “It’s a trap.”
“They said come alone.”
“They always do.”
“If I go—”
“You don’t.”
“She’s my best friend.”
She sat with me the night Derek shipped out.
One bad night doesn’t erase that.
“That’s why they took her,” he says.
The air shifts.
“She’s not leverage,” I insist.
“She’s bait,” he corrects quietly.
“They’re pissed,” he continues. “He didn’t get you. I put him on the floor in front of his people.”
