“But if they disappear,” I continue, choosing each word with care, “if anything happens to them… I want to know first.”
“I’ll flag it,” he replies after a beat.
The call ends without ceremony. I sit there long after, phone still in my hand, staring at nothing. I tell myself this is where it ends. That I’ve done enough. That ghosts don’t get to rewrite their rules just because the past refuses to stay buried.
But the truth is already settling in. The cost of being a ghost is that you see the danger coming, and eventually, you have to decide whether staying invisible is worth the price.
15
KATHERINE
Addison hasn’t called. It’s been two days. Two freaking days too long. I’m checking my phone so often it’s embarrassing. Every time the screen lights up with a notification that isn’t her, my stomach drops, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. I set the phone down. I pick it back up. I tell myself she’s busy. She’s in Somalia. Communications are unreliable. She’s done this before. But never like this.
The news doesn’t help much either, and the media house has no credible information.
She’s okay. She has to be okay. I tell myself that over and over as I move through the apartment on autopilot, doing the things that have to be done because Julian depends on me to keep theworld predictable. Bottles get warmed, diapers get changed, and laundry hums softly in the background like nothing is wrong, like the silence pressing in on me isn’t growing heavier by the hour.
Julian is sprawled on his play mat, kicking his legs with unearned joy, his dark eyes tracking the movement of a dangling toy. He lets out a squeal, delighted by something only he understands, and I force a smile that he doesn’t need, but I do.
“I know,” I murmur, crouching beside him. “You’re having a great day.”
He grabs my finger with surprising strength, grounding me in a way nothing else quite can. The contact is warm and real, reminding me that spiraling doesn’t help. It never has.
“Okay,” I say as I pick him up and buckle him into his carrier, deciding fresh air might help. “We’re going for a walk.”
The sun is out, bright and indifferent. People pass us on the sidewalk—couples laughing, someone walking a dog that looks far too happy with its life. No one looks at me like they know anything. No one slows down, stares, or does anything that would justify the tightness coiled low in my belly.
The walk does not help me at all, but Julian loves it, cooing and giggling at the birds and clouds the whole time. He fades off on our way back, oblivious to his mom’s turmoil about his godmother’s whereabouts.
Back home, I check my phone again. Still nothing.
Addison told me not to do anything, so I didn’t leave a message or call the embassy like I desperately want to. I’m choosing to trust her. She will call—she always does.
Ignoring his cot, I sink into the couch with Julian sleeping peacefully in my arms, one hand resting on his back. I stare at the street below, watching shadows stretch longer as the day slides toward evening.
“This is fine,” I whisper, though the words feel thin. “Everything’s fine.”
Then, my phone rings. The sound is sharp, cutting clean through the quiet, and my body reacts before my mind does. My heart slams hard enough to make me dizzy as I grab it, not even looking at the screen before answering.
“Addison?!”
There’s a pause on the other end, just a fraction of a second, before her voice comes through. “Katie.”
The way she says it—soft, careful, already bracing me—tells me everything I need to know. Something is wrong.
I shift Julian slightly, instinctively shielding him, my grip tightening around the phone. “Where have you been?” I demand, trying and failing to keep my voice light. “You disappeared.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I needed to make sure I could talk freely.”
That makes my chest constrict. “Addison—“
“I’m safe,” she cuts in quickly, anticipating the question. “For now.”
The words land heavy, sinking straight through me. I close my eyes, forehead pressing briefly against Julian’s soft hair.
“Okay,” I sigh, though nothing feels okay at all. “Talk to me.”
“I need you to listen,” Addison continues, and the softness disappears from her voice, replaced by something harder and more professional. The version of her that walks into places most people run from.
