Zane didn't hear the phone the first time it vibrated, because the office had settled into that late-hour hush that only arrived after everyone else went home, when the building stopped pretending it belonged to people and admitted it belonged to work, and his desk lamp threw a small, tired circle of light across contracts and notes while, beyond the glass, Atlanta stretched out in clean lines of white and amber that looked orderly from a distance and brutal up close.
He had been reading the same paragraph for several minutes, not because it was complex, but because his brain had started refusing new information in the way a body refused more pain once it reached its threshold.
When the phone buzzed again, closer and more insistent this time, he glanced down with irritation already rising, only for it to stall when he saw the name on the screen.
"Mum," he said, answering without greeting.
"Have you eaten," Lorrlyne asked, equally without greeting.
