Page 26 of Fractured Future

Eyes lowering, he stares down at his long, tree trunk legs. “No.”

“Then don’t lecture me.”

Taking the coffeepot to pour myself some liquid patience, regardless of whether it’s hot or cold, I cast him a final glare then retreat to the window to drink. I know he’s exhausted. Fed up. Impatient. We all are.

That doesn’t mean we quit.

Not in this business.

Studying the few old cars parked up outside, I focus on slowing my rapid breathing. As team leader, it’s my job to keep my cool. I’m the level head guiding two fearsome weapons to their targets.

But fuck if they don’t get under my skin sometimes. We’re a close-knit team, and like any family of choice, we live in each other’s pockets. That makes us strong. Reliable. Dependable.

It also means we drive one another crazy. Especially on long, emotional cases like these. I love them both like family, and I’m proud of our team, but that doesn’t make this career even remotely easier.

Vibrating emanates from my pocket again, forcing me to tug my phone out. I’m going to chew Kade out for being so impatient. I don’t care if he and his brother pay my salary now.

Two words light up the screen, giving me pause.

Unknown number.

Staring at the phone, I wait for the call to ring out. I’m not looking to get scammed by whoever’s purchased my personal number from some dodgy online data broker.

I’ve barely swallowed my next mouthful of lukewarm coffee when it starts to vibrate again. Still flashing the same words—Unknown number.They’re persistent.

You know what? Fine. I’ll take my frustrations out on whichever unlucky twat chose me to harass.Smashing the accept button, I take another gulp of the gross coffee.

“What?”

A dead silence answers me.

“Is someone there?”

More strange quietness, stretching long enough to send unease down my spine.

“Warner Mead speaking.”

I think I hear faint breathing. The featherlight sound tickles the receiver, making me hesitate before disconnecting the call.

“Hello?”

“Langley. It’s me.”

I’m faintly aware of my fingers releasing the coffee cup, causing it to crash to the floor. Not even the loud smashing sound the impact creates can pierce the intense ringing that fills my ears.

Surely… it can’t be.

“Langley,” the ghostly whisper repeats. “Are you there?”

Shock nearly bowls me over.

“Em?” I croak.

Even as children, Langley was a silly nickname. The kind invented when kids create make-believe characters, horsing around outside during those endless, hot summers after school finished.

Sometimes, I watched my best friend’s little sister while he cared for their sick mum. Even if she was five years younger than us, I liked playing with her. I was always a secret agent—code nameLangley—while she was an astronaut.

I later adopted my made-up character’s name when I needed a cover story for an undercover job. Ember laughed when I told her about the false identity I used once the Harrowdean case was wrapped up and I was back home.