No name. No signature. No context needed.
I showed the screen to Belle under the table. Her chips stopped moving toward her mouth. Her eyes found mine with the sharp focus of someone whose survival instincts had just kicked into overdrive.
"That's her, isn't it."
"Has to be."
"How did she get your number?"
"She's a Diamond-tier Davenport. She probably got my dental records, my birth certificate, and my childhood pet's name within an hour of arriving on campus."
"You had a childhood pet?"
"That's not the point, Belle."
Jordan, who had been inhaling pasta with the single-minded dedication of someone who treated every meal as their last, paused long enough to look between us. "Why do you both look like someone died?"
"Nobody died. Yet."
"Great. Love the optimism." He went back to his pasta.
Naomi set down her fork. "What's happening?"
