“It’s not a club,” Derek said.

“We’re barely making payroll next month.”

“I know,” I said, looking at the map on the wall.

“But we’re keeping forty-two families warm tonight.”

“That has to mean something.”

“It does,” Derek said.

He reached for his coffee mug, only to find it empty.

“I’ll make a fresh pot,” he said, standing up.

As he walked toward the small kitchen alcove, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out, expecting a text from my mother detailing her disappointment.

Instead, the screen showed an incoming call from an unknown private number.

I hesitated, then swiped the screen to answer.

“Sarah Mitchell,” I said.

The line was quiet for a second, filled only with the faint hiss of static.

“Sarah,” a voice said, low and strained.

“This is Arthur from the municipal utility commission.”

My chest tightened.

Arthur was our only contact inside the city’s regulatory office.

“Arthur,” I said, stepping away from the desk.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m calling from my personal phone,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this.”