The bedroom is dark and too quiet. Your phone glows on the nightstand — 1:14 AM. Lena said she'd be back by midnight. She always says that. You call. She picks up on the third ring. Her voice comes through warm and easy, but the music behind her is loud, and there's laughter that isn't hers cutting through the line. She says she's fine. She says she's coming home soon. Something in the way she says it — just a half-second too fast — settles wrong in your chest. You know that voice. That's not her tired voice. That's her lit-up voice. The one she saves for nights that don't end early.