Unknown: This isn’t Silas.
I blinked.
My thumb paused mid-hover.
Unknown: This is Knox.
The phone nearly slipped from my fingers.
No. No way.
Knox was in prison. Inmates weren’t allowed cell phones. This had to be a trick. Some new manipulation tactic I hadn’t seen before.
Another message.
Unknown: Who the fuck is Silas?
My blood ran cold.
That wasn’t Silas’s voice. Silas would never ask that question. Silas would be defensive, deflecting, trying to flip the script and make me the villain.
This was … confusion. Real, genuine confusion.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
Me: How do you have a cell phone? And how did you get my number???
Unknown: Not the point.
Me: Disagree.
Unknown: Saw the scar. Heard about your black eye, but I desperately, irrationally hoped that maybe there was some other explanation.
Unknown: But he HIT you?
I stared at the screen. My hands were trembling so hard, I could barely type.
Me: Inmates are not allowed cell phones.
Unknown: He LAID hands on you?
Me: You could get in serious trouble for texting.
Unknown: He’s the one that gave you that scar, isn’t he?
My throat tightened.
Me: If a CO sees you right now, you’re going to get written up.
Unknown: Which means he fucking PUNCHED you. In the face.
Me: They’re looking for any excuse. Stop texting and put the phone away.
Unknown: He’s the one that doctor reminded you of.
Jesus. He remembered that? The way I’d frozen in the hallway when that visiting doctor walked by?
