The instant Angel stepped out of the house, the night air brushing against her skin like a silent warning, she pressed the phone closer to her ear and demanded answers without hesitation.
"What have you found?" she asked sharply, her tone slicing through the quiet, unwilling to waste a second with pleasantries.
"Ma'am," the man on the other end began carefully, as though he already knew the weight of what he was about to reveal, "the man we tracked down… it's Tryson. His name is Tryson."
For a fleeting moment, Angel's chest constricted, as if her heart had forgotten how to beat.
Tryson?
The name echoed violently in her head, tearing through the fragile certainty she had built for herself. She staggered in place, clutching the phone tighter against her ear, desperate to hear more before her mind spun out of control.
Could it really be him? What if she had been mistaken all this time—what if this man was not the Tryson she had hoped for, but someone entirely different?
