They did not release Noah’s name. They did not release mine.
But people knew.
By eight o’clock, my phone was filled with messages from cousins I had not heard from in years.
Is this about Aunt Patricia?
What happened?
Call me.
Emily, are you okay?
Then came one from an unknown number.
You should have listened when he said the shed made bad noises.
I stared at the screen until the letters blurred.
Detective Harris was beside me within seconds.
“Who sent that?”
I handed him the phone.
He read it. His expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“You know this number,” I said.
He did not answer quickly enough.
“Harris.”
He exhaled.
“It belongs to a prepaid phone. We traced a similar number during an investigation last year.”
“What investigation?”
He looked toward Noah’s room again.
“A missing child case.”
The air left my lungs.
“In Oak Cliff?”
