HAYDEN

I stared at my phone for a long time before hitting call. The screen reflected my own tense expression back at me, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched. My hands weren’t steady. It wasn’t a game-day kind of adrenaline, sharp and focused.

This was heavier, pressing down on my chest, the kind of pressure that didn’t let up even when I tried to breathe it away.

The call rang twice before Dad answered.

“Hayden,” he said, brisk as always, like we were already mid-conversation. “I’m ...