Tristan’s P.O.V

I crouched inside the washroom, heart hammering against my ribs, my eyes glued to the tiny slit in the door. Every creak of the floor outside made me flinch, every distant footstep sent a jolt of panic through me. I pulled my phone from my pocket and switched it to silent, my thumb hovering over Sophia’s number before I pressed call.

The line rang endlessly, each tone stretching my nerves thinner and thinner, until finally, it went to voicemail. I swallowed ...