"C'mon, pick up! Pick up! Pick up!"
I kept pacing. Back and forth, across the cold marble floor, the sharp sound of my steps echoing louder with each turn. The same path, over and over again.
I felt like the hard marble already shaped the trace of my shoes in it as the pacing got more frantic.
My hand was clenched so tight around the phone, my knuckles were starting to ache. I didn't even remember starting to shake, but there it was—my fingers twitching just enough to make the screen blur when I lifted it again.
Still no response.
"Is he actually dead?", I mumbled to myself.
I stopped, just for a second, standing in the middle of the polished floor, heart pounding way too hard for how still I was.
Then I started pacing again.
No. Impossible.
The grenade was thrown at Emiliano's house. In any other location, Luther and Damian would be dead, but there?
He surely pulled a Bruno Mars and caught the grenade for them. Right?
Right.
Right?
"Don't even think about it."
