Prissy did not call Karlos.
She called Mike first.
She stood outside the coffee shop on the pavement with the early afternoon noise of the street around her, one hand pressed against her opposite arm, and she called him before she could talk herself out of it.
He answered on the third ring.
"Prissy."
His voice was careful. The way it had been careful since the morning she left before he woke up. There was something apologetic living in it that he had not found a way to speak out loud yet.
She did not give him time for any of that.
"Clara Leone's daughter," she said. "You've been looking into her. How close are you?"
A pause.
"What?" he said carefully.
"How close are you to knowing who she is," Prissy repeated, her voice clipped and practical. "Don't waste my time asking how I know. I know. How close are you?"
She heard him exhale. "I suspected something three days ago. I was waiting for confirmation from Sofia before I told Karlos."
"And?"
"Mike."
