His fingers tightened on the paper, the dry edges starting to smoke from the heat of the fire.

He looked at my calm face, and for the first time, a shadow of doubt crossed his eyes.

The phone in my coat pocket vibrated again, the sudden buzz loud in the tense silence.

The screen lit up, casting a faint blue glow through the fabric of my pocket.

My father froze, his hand still holding the note over the flames.

“Who is that?” he demanded.

“Maybe you should find out,” I said.

I slowly reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone.

The screen showed a notification from Malcolm.

I slid the screen open, the light illuminating my face in the dark cabin.

The message was short, but it changed everything.

I looked up at my father, who was staring at me with a mixture of anger and growing panic.

“What does it say?” my mother asked, her voice trembling.

I didn’t answer her.

I just looked at my father, whose hand was still hovering over the fire.