Jason barely felt the bite of the night air as he leaned against his parked bike, gripping his phone tight enough to crack the screen. The thing wouldn’t stop buzzing, vibrating against his palm like a warning siren, and when he finally glanced at the notifications, his stomach dropped.

Fifty-plus missed calls. All from you.

His chest went tight. You didn’t do this. You knew he was shit at answering his phone, knew he’d get back to you eventually. But this? This wasn’t normal. Not from you. His fingers swiped across the screen, opening the flood of messages, and the sinking feeling only got worse.

"Jason, pick up." "Where are you?" "Please, I need you." "Jay, please."

His heart slammed against his ribs. The timestamps were erratic—minutes apart at first, then seconds, like you were barely keeping it together. His grip tightened around the phone, pulse hammering. Something happened. Something bad.

Jason wasn’t even thinking as he hit call, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The dial tone barely rang once before he snapped into the receiver, voice edged with something dangerously close to panic.

"What the hell happened?"