The garden had been entirely quiet for an hour, save for the low hum of distant bees and the soft rustle of the hedge. Cora sat on the wooden bench, her hands neatly locked together inside the thick wool of her red sweater. She hadn’t touched the phone glowing on the seat beside her. It had just buzzed once—a short, sharp vibration that seemed to echo louder than it actually was. To her left, Barnaby popped his head up over the armrest, his ears twitching as he stared intently at the glowing screen. On the other side, Pip draped his sleek black body over the backrest, tilting his head sideways with wide, unblinking eyes, as if he were waiting for the little rectangle to confess its secrets. Cora stared out past the white wildflowers, her lips parted slightly. She knew exactly who the message was from, and she knew that reading it would change the lazy, suspended stillness of the afternoon. The phone sat there, a tiny, glowing anchor in the green grass, daring her to break the spell.