Chapter 4: W. Hale Is a Woman

Sixty-three missed calls in eleven minutes. MOM. DAD. ASHER. DECLAN. MOM. MOM. MOM. Three hundred and seventy-two days of silence, and now the burner phone I bought in Ohio wouldn't stop shaking in my hand. I sat on my bike two miles from the Ravenguard gate and watched it light up like a slot machine. "You could answer," Nyx said. "You could hear what she has to say." "She had a year," I said, and turned it face-down in my jacket. "She can have a year back." Here's the thing about the number...