Callum stood in the rain, his wet hair plastered to his forehead.

He looked small.

Arthur shifted the car into reverse.

“Let’s go, Avery,” he said.

I looked back through the wet rear window.

Callum and Vivian were standing in the gravel, surrounded by their luggage, as the gates began to close.

As we drove out onto the main road, my phone buzzed in my hand.

It was an unknown number.

I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear.

“Avery,” a frantic voice said.

It was not Callum.

It was Dr. Whitaker.

“We need to talk,” Whitaker stammered, his voice shaking. “Callum is going to kill me.”

Before I could answer, a loud, metallic crash echoed through the receiver.

The line went dead.

Arthur, pull over,” I said, my thumb hovering over the red end-call button.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“What is it, Avery?” he asked.

“That was Dr. Whitaker,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “He said Callum was going to kill him. Then there was a crash.”