Karl finally arrived at his apartment, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the couch before collapsing onto his bed. The exhaustion from work clung to him, but his mind refused to quiet down.
Lina.
Her voice kept echoing in his head. The bitterness. The way her hands shook. The sheer weight of what she'd told him.
Karl exhaled sharply and pulled out his phone. He had to dig deeper. He needed to know more.
But there was a problem.
He couldn't just text her. Too risky. She might be talking to someone else at the same time, which meant he wouldn't have full control of the conversation. If she slipped up, if she mentioned something to the wrong person, it could complicate everything.
"Just text her, idiot."
Karl flinched at the sudden voice. Chillie Jean's smug face flickered onto his screen, lounging in her digital throne, swirling an invisible glass of wine.