“Will that make him talk?”

“He will sing to save his own skin,” Liam said. “I will force him to admit that Beatrice paid him to lock the service doors.”

The memory of the smoke rising in the charity hall flashed in my mind.

I remembered the panic, the locked metal doors, and the heat pressing against my back.

“He locked us in,” I whispered, my fingers tightening into fists. “He let those people burn for fifty thousand dollars.”

“And we are going to make him say it out loud,” Liam said.

Suddenly, a sharp, high-pitched hum echoed through the quiet apartment.

We both froze.

The sound was coming from the kitchen.

It was a vibration, followed by a steady, rhythmic chiming.

Liam pulled me behind him as we moved back toward the living room.

In the kitchen, on the laminate countertop, a small object was glowing in the dark.

It was a burner phone, its screen flashing a bright, neon blue.

I stepped closer, squinting at the glowing text on the display.

An unknown number was calling.