Then I heard another voice through the phone.
Warm.
Soft.
Smiling.
“Leila,” Samir said. “You always were dramatic.”
I froze.
Seven years vanished.
I was nineteen again.
Locked room.
No passport.
No window.
His footsteps outside the door.
Kareem shouted.
There was a crash.
The line died.
Police found Kareem unconscious in the driveway with a fractured jaw.
Samir was gone.
No cameras.
No witnesses.
No fingerprints.
Like smoke.
