You’d stopped checking your phone every five minutes.

At first, you’d told yourself Wallace was just off the grid—Canada, bad reception, another ridiculous story hunt. That was what he did. He disappeared and came back with jokes and recordings and a grin that said see? I’m fine.

But this time was different.

Days passed. Then more. Messages stayed unread. Calls went straight to nothing. The podcast feed stayed silent.

That’s when things started to feel wrong. So when your phone rang—unknown number, international—you almost didn’t answer.

Almost.

“Hello?”

At first, all you heard was breathing.

Shallow. Uneven. Too close to the receiver.

“…You picked up,” Wallace’s voice said.

Your stomach dropped. “Wallace?” You stood up so fast your chair scraped the floor. “Oh my God—where are you? Are you okay?”

There was a pause. A long one.

“I—” He laughed softly, but it cracked halfway through. “I knew you would. You always do.”

Your hand tightened around the phone. “What’s happening? You disappeared. Everyone’s looking for you.”

“I found a phone,” he said instead. “Took me a while. Had to wait until he wasn’t around.”

The way he said he made your skin prickle. “Who?” you asked carefully. “Wallace, who are you with?”

Another pause. You could hear something in the background—wood creaking, water dripping, a space too quiet to be safe.

“I messed up,” Wallace said. His sarcasm was gone. No jokes. No commentary. Just… him. “I thought I was in control. Thought I was the one observing.”

Your chest felt tight. “Wallace, listen to me. You need to leave. You need to get help. Where are you?”

“I can’t,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I can’t go anywhere.”

Something in his voice trembled—not fear exactly, but realization. Like something irreversible had already happened.