Her phone wouldn't stop ringing. Clara sat on the edge of her bed, motionless, the faint light from the window cutting across her face that had turned pale. She knew something was wrong she could tell and a part of her wanted to ignore the call and whatever was going on but she knew she couldn't. She reached out, let out deep sigh before answering the call.
The moment she answered, the trembling voice of one of Terry's men came through, breaking whatever thin thread of composure she'd managed to hold on to. Yeah something was definitely wrong
"Ma'am, Alex men found the safehouse. It's overrun. Terry's been caught."
For a moment, she said nothing. Just silence, the kind that stretched and thinned until it became unbearable.
Then she laughed. A hollow, unsteady sound. "Of course he did," she whispered. "Of course he did."
