ISABELLE'S POINT OF VIEW
The parking garage was eerily quiet, almost too quiet. My heels clicked sharply against the concrete, echoing in the lonely cavern. Just a few scattered cars adorned the third level, and my own sat tucked away in the corner, my usual refuge from errant door dings.
As I juggled my shopping bags, I pulled out my phone with shaking fingers, determined to reach Elena. The afternoon I'd spent unraveling Mia Morrison had yielded nothing; every lead had gone cold. Mia was too spotless, too pristine. It screamed of something lurking beneath her surface.
I tapped Elena's contact and pressed the call button, the ringing sound met with agonizing silence. Voicemail. I cursed under my breath, redialing with growing urgency. Again, silence.
With mounting frustration, I turned my heels toward my car, quickening my pace. Twenty feet away, a mere heartbeat. Yet, something felt wrong. An unsettling prickle danced along my spine, whispering for me to be wary.
