The call connected.
"Nicky?" Eliana's voice came out as a whisper, so fragile it almost dissolved into the silence between them. She barely recognized her own tone—stripped of all the strength she'd tried to muster over the last three days.
There was a pause. A breath. A quiet shift in the line.
And then—
"Eliana."
Her knees buckled again just from hearing his voice. Raw. Tired. Frayed at the edges like he hadn't slept in days. There was a storm in that single word, soft-spoken but heavy. It wasn't just her name—it was grief, fear, longing, and guilt all wrapped together.
"I—did you see?" she asked, her voice already cracking.
Another pause. "Yes. I saw."
She closed her eyes, holding her breath as her free hand clutched the edge of the glass door. "I didn't know that photo existed. I swear, Nicky. I didn't know. I never would've—"
"I know," Nicky said after a beat. "I know you didn't."
