Chapter 4

The phone kept ringing.

Sophie stared at the screen, at Ethan's name glowing there, patient as ever, and for a moment she thought about letting it ring out. Letting it go to voicemail. Pretending she hadn't seen it.

But Clara's words were still burning behind her eyes. He was looking for something. And Ethan was calling her right after those messages vanished into nothing, like he somehow knew.

She answered.

"Sophie." His voice came out fast, relieved, like he'd been holding his breath waiting for her to pick up. "Thank God. I've been trying to reach you all night."

"Why are you calling me, Ethan?"

"Because Clara's missing. Your mom called my mom; it's—everyone's freaking out." A pause, and when he spoke again, his voice had softened, careful. "Are you okay? Has anyone told you anything?"

Sophie sat very still on the edge of her bed, phone pressed hard against her ear. "Where's Clara?"

"I don't know. I wish I did." He said it quickly, almost too quickly. "I've been calling her too. Nothing."

"You've been calling her."

"Sophie, I'm worried about her. Despite everything, I don't want anything bad to happen to her." A breath. "Have you heard from her? Anything at all?"

Sophie's grip tightened on the phone. She thought about the three messages sitting nowhere now, gone from the thread like they'd never existed. She thought about how I kissed him because I needed you to leave him, and the way she said it out loud to Ethan felt like handing him something she wasn't ready to give away.

"No," she said. "Nothing."

"Okay." He exhaled, and it sounded almost like relief. "Okay, good. I mean—not good, just. If she reaches out, you'll tell me, right?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"Because I care about her too, Sophie. I know that probably sounds insane coming from me right now, but I do." His voice tried for gentle and mostly landed on rehearsed. "This isn't easy for me either."

Sophie almost laughed. Almost. "Why did she kiss you, Ethan?"

Silence on the line. Not long. A second, maybe two. But long enough that Sophie noticed it, the way you notice a missed stair in the dark.

"I don't know," he said finally. "Honestly, I think she's been under a lot of pressure since your birthday. Everything with your parents, the arguing, you not talking to either of us—I think it's messing with her head. People say things they don't mean when they're like that."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

Sophie closed her eyes. She could feel her own heartbeat in her throat, steady and too fast at the same time. She thought about the words on her screen, gone now, unprovable, hers alone.

"What were you looking for?" she asked.

The silence this time was different. Heavier. It sat on the line long enough that Sophie almost said his name again, almost asked if he was still there—and then he spoke, too fast, too smooth, like he'd caught himself falling and grabbed the first thing within reach.

"What? Looking for—what are you talking about?"

"You heard me."

"Sophie, I don't know what you're asking me. Did Clara say something to you?" His voice sharpened, just slightly, just enough. "Is that what this is? Did she call you, or text you, or—"

Sophie's stomach dropped.

She hadn't told him that. She hadn't said one word about Clara contacting her—not a call, not a text, nothing. She'd said no when he asked if she'd heard anything.

So how did he know to ask?

"I didn't say she contacted me," Sophie said slowly.

Silence. This one lasted longer than all the others.

"I just meant—" Ethan started.

Sophie hung up.

She sat there afterward with the phone in her lap, her hands cold, her pulse loud in her own ears. The room felt smaller than it had ten minutes ago. She looked at the dark screen like it might tell her something else, something she hadn't caught the first time.

It buzzed in her hand, and she flinched so hard she almost dropped it.

Not Ethan. A number she didn't recognize—no name, no contact, just a string of digits she'd never seen before.

Sophie stared at it for three rings before she answered.

"Hello?"

Silence on the other end. Not empty silence—the kind with breathing in it, the kind that meant someone was there, listening, deciding whether to speak.

"Hello," she said again, quieter. "Who is this?"

A man's voice. Low. Unfamiliar. Careful in a way that made the back of her neck go cold.

"If Clara told you to find Noah," he said, "don't."

Sophie's whole body froze.

Noah.

The name hit her harder than it should have.

She hadn't seen him in a long time.

"What? Who is this? How do you know about—"

"Who is this?" she said again, sharper now, gripping the phone so hard her knuckles ached. "How do you know that name?"

Nothing. Just that same careful silence, like he was choosing his next words with the kind of patience that scared her more than shouting would have.

"Whatever Clara told you, Sophie," the voice said, "Noah is not on your side."

The line went dead.