Darrell was the first to finish getting ready.
He moved with sharp, controlled urgency, dressed in dark slacks and a fitted jacket, his face locked in a focused expression that made his usual boyish charm vanish completely. As he grabbed the car keys from the counter, his other hand remained glued to his phone, screen lit, thumb redialing the same two numbers over and over again. First Lucian's. Then Adrian's.
Still no answer.
The calls rang endlessly, each one diverted straight to voicemail. His jaw ticked with each failed attempt. The longer the phones rang without a response, the heavier the pressure grew in his chest.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached. He didn't need to turn to know it was Marlowe. Her presence had a stillness that clung to her like a second skin.
She stopped beside him but didn't speak—not immediately. Not while the phone was still pressed to his ear. She could see from his posture that he was straining to keep himself composed.
