11
Sam
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“Sam,” Claire hissed. “Your phone is ringing. Silence it or answer it or something.”
I blearily opened my eyes and reached for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up again. I squinted at the name that appeared on the device. What the hell? Why was Lark calling me at one o’clock in the morning? Was she drunk?
I silenced the phone and set it back facedown with a yawn. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine,” she muttered, already half-asleep.
But then the phone started to ring again.
I snatched it off the nightstand with a curse. I threw the covers off of me and stumbled out of the one bedroom and into the tiny living space.
With a deep breath, I answered the phone, “Hello?”
“Sam,” Lark said in relief, “you answered.”
She didn’t sound drunk. Not even a litt
