Chapter 88 Can't Talk About It?

• She picked up the phone, not to answer, just to shut it up. The buzzing had reached that frantic stage, like it was auditioning for a role in a horror movie. With a small flick, she turned it over, face down. Silence. Blessed and immediate, like someone had finally turned off a leaky tap in her brain.
• “I should probably call Sophie,” she said, more a sigh than a statement, barely looking up from the screen now gone dark. The guilt had crept up fast. Too fast. Like it had just been waiting for a quiet moment to pounce.
• Alistair didn’t say anything for a second. Then he nodded, slow and knowing, the way only someone who'd spent years studying the art of people could. “Yeah… she’ll definitely be pacing. You know how she gets when she can’t figure out the temperature of a room. Or a person. Or the entire emotional weather system.”