"Any words from her yet?" Harry Gray asked, his voice tight with an anxiety he tried to mask.
Kathleen dropped her phone onto her lap with a heavy sigh, a deep, persistent frown marring her features. The morning sun filtered through their small apartment window, but it did little to brighten the mood.
They had both seen the news bulletins earlier that morning—headlines about a violent incident and a tragic accident at Soléne Couture. The details were blurry, but the location was unmistakable.
According to Kelvin, that was exactly where Alina worked. They had been trying to reach her for hours, but every call was met with the same cold, digital monotone of her voicemail. The silence was becoming deafening.
Kathleen shook her head, her eyes reflecting the worry she tried to keep at bay. "Nothing. Not a word. If something truly terrible had happened to her, surely we would have been the first to know, right?"
