IMOGEN'S POV
I stared at my phone for the hundredth time in the past hour. Still nothing from Isaac. The last message I'd sent him was sitting there with no response: Any movement?
My coffee had gone cold on the kitchen counter. I'd made it an hour ago, thinking I'd drink it while waiting for his update. Instead, I'd paced circles around my apartment, checking my phone every thirty seconds like some lovesick teenager.
This wasn't like him. Isaac always responded. Even if it was just a quick "can't talk now" or "will call later." Radio silence wasn't his style, especially not when he was following Deborah on what could be the most important night of this entire nightmare.
I tried calling him. Straight to voicemail. His voice, recorded weeks ago when the world still made sense, told me to leave a message and he'd get back to me. I hung up without saying anything.
