The Text
The rain had been falling since morning.
Not dramatic movie rain. Just the slow, gray kind that made the entire town feel exhausted.
Nina Carter sat in the back corner of Bellamy Café with a cold cup of coffee between her hands and three untouched interview transcripts spread across the table. Outside the fogged-up window, students crossed the street with their heads lowered beneath umbrellas, disappearing into the November haze.
Her laptop screen glowed with the headline she had rewritten six times already.
LOCAL MAYOR DENIES MISUSE OF SCHOLARSHIP FUNDS
She hated it.
Not the article. The emptiness of it.
Journalism was supposed to feel meaningful. Dangerous, even. Instead, she spent most days rewriting lies into cleaner sentences.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
Nina ignored it automatically.
Another buzz.
Probably Lucas.
Another.
Annoyed now, she grabbed the phone without looking.
Then froze.
Unknown Number.
But not unknown.
Disconnected.
Dead.
Her stomach tightened before her brain caught up.
The number belonged to Ava.
For two years, it had belonged to Ava.
Nina stared at the screen so long the café noise around her seemed to blur into static.
1 New Message
they lied about what happened
Her mouth went dry.
No.
No, this had to be some sick joke.
She read the message again.
And again.
The typing style.
No punctuation.
Lowercase.
Exactly how Ava texted.
Nina’s thumb hovered over the screen.
A sharp pulse began hammering behind her ribs.
She typed carefully.
Who is this?
Delivered.
Three gray dots appeared instantly.
Nina stopped breathing.
Then vanished.
Nothing came.
A chair scraped loudly nearby, making her flinch hard enough that coffee spilled over her sleeve.
“Jesus,” she muttered.
The barista glanced over.
“You okay?”
Nina nodded too quickly.
Not okay.
Definitely not okay.
Her eyes returned to the phone.
Still nothing.
Two years.
Two years since Ava disappeared after leaving a party outside town.
Two years since the searches.
The interviews.
The rumors.
The funeral without a body.
And now this.
Her first instinct was denial.
Someone spoofed the number.
Someone hacked an old account.
Someone wanted attention.
But beneath the logic, beneath every rational explanation, something colder moved through her.
Hope.
Dangerous, humiliating hope.
Nina grabbed her jacket and shoved the transcripts into her bag.
She needed air.
Outside, the cold hit immediately. Rain misted against her face as she crossed the street toward the parking garage.
Her heartbeat refused to settle.
By the time she reached the second floor, she was already pulling up Ava’s old contact history.
Hundreds of messages.
Photos.
Voice notes.
Fragments of a dead friendship.
Her thumb stopped on the final conversation.
Two years ago.
11:43 PM.
AVA:
can you answer for once?
NINA:
not tonight
AVA:
nina seriously
NINA:
you always do this when things get messy
AVA:
wow
NINA:
i’m done cleaning up your problems
Unread message.
The last thing Ava ever sent her.
Nina had never opened it.
Couldn’t.
Even now, guilt wrapped around her throat when she looked at it.
She swallowed hard and locked the phone.
A voice behind her said quietly,
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Nina jerked around.
Lucas stood near the stairwell holding two grocery bags, rainwater darkening the shoulders of his work jacket.
“You scared me.”
“Clearly.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You okay?”
Lucas always looked dependable in a way that almost irritated her. Broad shoulders. Calm voice. Steady hands stained with engine grease from the auto shop.
Reliable.
Solid.
Normal.
Nina forced herself to breathe evenly.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“You’ve looked tired for two years.”
She looked away.
Lucas immediately regretted it. She could hear it in the silence afterward.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Nina leaned against her car door.
“You coming from work?”
“Mm.”
He adjusted the grocery bags in one arm. “Mom asked if you’re coming Sunday.”
“Maybe.”
“She misses you.”
“Lucas.”
“What?”
“You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Trying to fix conversations before they become uncomfortable.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“You always notice when people are lying.”
The words hit strangely hard.
Nina’s phone buzzed again.
Both of them looked down instantly.
Her chest tightened.
Unknown Number.
Ava’s number.
Lucas frowned. “You gonna answer that?”
Nina didn’t move.
The second message appeared slowly across the screen.
don’t trust ethan
Everything inside her seemed to stop.
Lucas noticed her expression immediately.
“Nina?”
She locked the phone too fast.
“Who was it?”
“No one.”
“That’s not a no one face.”
She pushed past him toward the driver’s side.
“I just need to go home.”
“Nina.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
Only then did she realize he was right.
Her fingers trembled violently around the keys.
Lucas stepped closer, concern deepening across his face.
“Nina, what happened?”
For one reckless second, she almost told him.
About the messages.
About the impossible number.
About the tiny spark of hope clawing painfully back to life.
But something stopped her.
Maybe the warning.
Maybe instinct.
Maybe the fact that Ava’s last message had not been:
help me.
It had been:
don’t trust Ethan.
Which meant Ava had expected this.
Expected someone to read it.
Expected danger.
Nina opened the car door.
“I’ll call you later.”
Lucas watched her carefully.
“You sure?”
“No.”
The honesty surprised both of them.
Rain tapped softly against the roof as she got inside and locked the doors.
Lucas stayed there another moment before finally walking away.
Nina waited until he disappeared down the stairwell.
Then she unlocked her phone again.
The message remained on-screen.
don’t trust ethan
A name she had spent two years trying not to think about.
Ethan Reed.
Ava’s boyfriend.
The last person known to have seen her alive.
And the boy Nina had always suspected was hiding something.
Thunder rolled faintly outside.
Nina stared at the message.
Then slowly opened Ava’s final unread text from two years ago.
Her breath caught.
Only four words.
he knows where i am
Nina’s blood went cold.
A knock suddenly hit her driver-side window.
She screamed.
A hooded figure stood beside the car.
Watching her.
