She was already lucid when Nia Mitchell began to unbutton her collar. Not knowing how to face Nia Mitchell, she could only pretend to be asleep.
The alcohol was still affecting her; she rubbed her forehead and sat up with effort.
Just then, the phone suddenly rang.
"Hello?" Fiona Sutton answered, glancing at her phone. It was an unfamiliar number.
"It's me."
A deep, slightly hoarse male voice came from the other end. Fiona's mind went blank for a moment. She couldn't recall who it was.
"Who?"
Fiona hated it when people called and just said, "It's me." Great, as if I'm supposed to recognize your voice just like that.
"Yancy Hastings."
Yancy Hastings, his face grim, had just returned from the mountains. He was so exhausted he didn't want to move a muscle. He was currently sitting on the ground, his clothes caked with mud and his face covered in dust.
But he still called Fiona Sutton first.
