Her heavy footsteps echoed down the grand hallway of the estate.

I heard her running down the winding marble staircase, the soles of her shoes slapping against the stone.

Downstairs, the heavy oak front door slammed shut, the sound vibrating through the floorboards.

I stood alone in the quiet room.

The heart monitor continued its slow, rhythmic beep.

Outside, the headlights of a car cut through the dark rain, sweeping across the ceiling of the bedroom as Benson’s sedan sped down the winding driveway.

She was gone, leaving me in the silence of the storm.

I bent down and picked up the black burner phone.

It was cheap, the kind sold at convenience stores for cash, with a plastic casing that felt light and flimsy in my hand.

The screen was dark now, but when I pressed a side button, it lit up with a dull blue glow.

There was no password lock on the home screen.

I opened the messaging folder with a trembling thumb.

There were only two contacts saved in the list: ‘J’ and an unlisted number.

I clicked on the messages from ‘J’.