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The phone in my hand shouldn't be on.
It's been dead for two years. I watched the screen crack when it hit the floor the day after Mom's funeral. I never charged it again. Never turned it on. I shoved it in the back of my nightstand drawer under old receipts and a broken watch and tried to pretend it didn't exist.
But now it's glowing. Vibrating. Mom's name on the caller ID.
Kira's footsteps pound down the hall. She crashes through my bedroom door so hard it slams into the wall. Her eyes lock onto the phone. Her face goes white.
"Don't answer that."
I take a step back. My thumb hovers over the green button.
"Layla." Her voice cracks. "Please."
"It's my mom."
"It's not."
"You don't know that."
"I do." She moves toward me, hand outstretched. "Give me the phone."
I twist away. My hip hits the edge of the dresser. "Back off."
"That thing is dangerous. You heard what it said on the voicemail. It's learning. It's getting better at sounding like her."
The phone keeps ringing. My hand's shaking so hard I almost drop it.
"What if it is her?" My voice sounds small. I hate it. "What if she's—"
"She's not." Kira's right in front of me now. Close enough that I can see the tiny scar above her left eyebrow. Close enough that I can smell whatever cheap soap she used in my shower. "She's gone, Layla. I'm sorry, but she's gone."
Something hot and sharp twists in my chest.
"You didn't even know her."
Kira flinches. It's barely there—just a flicker in her eyes—but I catch it.
Wait.
"Did you?"
She doesn't answer. Her jaw tightens. She reaches for the phone again and I shove her hand away.
"Did you know my mom?"
"Layla—"
"Answer the question."
The ringing stops. The room goes quiet except for our breathing. Kira's staring at the floor. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides.
"Kira."
"It's complicated."
"That's not an answer."
She finally looks up. There's something in her face I haven't seen before. Something that looks almost like guilt.
"I met her," she says quietly. "Once."
The air goes out of my lungs.
"When?"
"Two years ago. Right before—" She stops. Shakes her head. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"She didn't want you involved. She made that very clear."
"Involved in what?"
Kira turns away. Runs a hand through her hair. "In this. The rifts. The shadows. She knew what you were and she spent her entire life trying to keep you away from it."
My throat feels tight. "What I am? What the hell does that mean?"
"You're an anchor. A connection point between this world and the rift. Shadow creatures are drawn to you. Your mom knew that. She tried to protect you."
I want to sit down. I want to scream. I do neither.
"And you didn't think to tell me this?"
"I was trying to keep you safe."
"By lying?"
"By doing what she asked!" Kira's voice rises. She spins back to face me. "She made me promise. If anything happened to her, I was supposed to watch over you. Keep you away from the Bureau. Keep you away from the desert. Keep you alive."
The phone buzzes. Once. A text message.
We both look down.
It's a photo. Grainy. Dark. But I recognize the landscape. The flat expanse of sand. The cluster of rocks in the distance shaped like a broken tooth.
That's fifteen miles outside town. Near the old mining roads.
Below the photo: *Come find me, baby.*
My stomach twists. Mom never called me baby. The voicemail proved that. But whoever—whatever—is sending these messages knows I'm paying attention now. It's baiting me.
Another text appears: *Before sunrise. Come alone.*
Kira grabs for the phone. This time I let her take it. She stares at the screen, her face going from white to gray.
"You're not going."
"Like hell I'm not."
"Layla, listen to me. That's exactly what it wants. You go out there, you're walking straight into a trap."
"Maybe." I grab my jacket off the back of the chair. "Or maybe I finally get some real answers instead of more cryptic bullshit."
"This isn't a game. These things kill people. They wear faces. They mimic voices. They find the thing you want most and they use it to tear you apart."
I shove my arms through the sleeves. "Then I guess I'll see my mom one more time."
Kira steps in front of the door. "I can't let you do this."
"You can't stop me."
We stare at each other. Her shoulders are tense. Her breathing's shallow. For a second I think she might actually try to fight me. Tackle me to the ground or lock me in or something equally insane.
Then her expression shifts. Softens. She looks tired.
"If you go," she says slowly, "I'm coming with you."
"It said come alone."
"I don't care what it said."
"Kira—"
"You think I'm letting you walk into the desert by yourself to meet something that's been hunting you for weeks? No. Absolutely not. If you go, I go."
I want to argue. I want to tell her to stay here and mind her own business. But the truth is, I'm scared. I'm so scared my hands won't stop shaking. And the idea of going out there alone, in the dark, to meet whatever's been using my dead mom's voice—
I'm not that brave.
"Fine," I mutter. "But we do this my way."
Kira nods. She hands me the phone back. "What's your way?"
I look down at the screen. The photo of the desert. The coordinates embedded in the metadata if I had to guess. The thing pretending to be Mom is cocky. It wants me to know exactly where to go.
I open the recent calls list. Hit the number that just rang.
Kira's eyes go wide. "What are you doing?"
"Calling back."
"Layla, don't—"
The line clicks. Connects. Static hisses in my ear. Then, underneath it, breathing. Slow. Steady.
"Mom?" My voice cracks.
The breathing stops. Silence stretches. Long enough that I think maybe no one's there. Maybe it hung up. Maybe—
"Layla." Her voice. Exactly her voice. Warm and low and impossible. "I've been waiting."
My vision blurs. I blink hard. "Where are you?"
"You know where. The place we used to go. When you were little."
I don't remember ever going into the desert with her. Not once. But I don't say that. I just listen.
"Before sunrise," she whispers. "Come alone. I'll explain everything. I promise, baby. I'll tell you the truth."
There it is again. Baby. She's slipping. Getting careless. Or maybe it thinks I won't notice anymore.
"Okay," I lie. "I'll come."
"Good girl."
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone. Kira's staring at me, her face pale, her jaw tight.
"It gave you coordinates?"
I nod.
"And you're still going."
"Yeah."
She exhales hard. Looks at the ceiling like she's praying or counting to ten or maybe both.
"Sunrise is in four hours," she finally says. "We need weapons. Salt. Iron. And a way to kill it if things go bad."
"You know how to kill one of those things?"
Her eyes meet mine. They're dark. Unreadable.
"Yeah," she says quietly. "I do."