Down below, scribbled neatly at the bottom of the paper, was a number. Angel's eyes lingered on it, her breath catching in her throat as though the digits themselves held the power to unravel every guarded thought she had built over the years. The number wasn't random—it was written by Mason's teacher, a detail that unsettled her even more. Teachers wouldn't casually hand over a number unless it had been specifically requested, unless someone had insisted, demanded even, that she be given a way to reach them.
Her pulse quickened as the realization dawned on her. Whoever had taken Mason hadn't just walked into the school; he had gone through the proper channels, had spoken to the teachers with the authority of someone who belonged. And that thought—it sent a shiver through her spine.
