Two forty-seven in the morning. It is not the witching hour, not the hour of the dead. It is something else. An anonymous, forgotten moment, tucked deep within the folds of the night. For Lena, it was the moment the silence broke.
Her phone did not buzz. It convulsed. A furious, frantic vibration that sent it skittering across the nightstand, its screen igniting the room in a cold, surgical bl...
