First message
Made it home. Happy now?
Ryder tosses his keys onto the counter the second he walks into his apartment, still smelling like rain, gasoline, and cold night air. The message sends before he notices the unfamiliar area code attached to the contact.
He stops mid-step.
“…seriously?”
The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the distant thunder outside. He drags a hand down his face, already annoyed at himself.
Then another text follows.
ignore that. wrong number.
A beat later:
Actually, no—don’t ignore it. I wanna know who ends up with my messages at one in the morning.