"Kayden?" Mateo's voice carries that particular blend of surprise and concern that comes from receiving unexpected calls in the rain. "Is everything okay?"
The question hangs in the humid air of the car, competing with the steady drumming of rain against metal and glass. Kayden stares through the fogged windshield at nothing, his grip on the phone tight enough to make his hand ache.
"Is there anything else you know?"
The words come out rough, scraped raw from his throat. He doesn't elaborate, doesn't provide context, but he doesn't need to. Mateo has always been perceptive, always able to read the spaces between words, to hear what isn't being said.
There's a pause on the other end of the line. Kayden can picture Mateo exactly the way he'll be leaning back in his chair, fingers drumming against his desk or his knee, that calculating expression crossing his face as he processes the question and all its implications.
"Where are you?" Mateo asks carefully.
