I opened my mouth to respond, but the sound of the landline thrummed through the room.
My heart stopped. I knew that vibration. It was the silent, untraceable phone call I received every day—the one that never spoke, yet said everything. Inside me, Zver threw his head back and let out a mourning, primal howl of recognition. The bond pulled so taut it felt like a wire was being dragged through my soul, hot and agonizing.
Anya.
I didn't breathe. I turned from Ilya and lunged for the phone, my metal hand reaching for the receiver as if it were the lifeline left in a drowning world.
The same phone call around the same time every month.
I snatched the receiver, my metal grip tightening until the plastic groaned. I didn't say hello. I didn't have to. The air on the other kend was alive, humming with a frequency that made my mark burn like a brand.
Silence.
Then, a soft, rhythmic sound. The ghost of a breath.
