The name Isla was enough to stir up a storm in Henry Sullivan's heart. He placed his phone aside, unable to hide the anxiety in his eyes.
Ivy Miller was also awake. Seeing him put down the phone, she asked with her eyes closed, "Who is it, in the middle of the night?"
"It's nothing, go back to sleep." He turned sideways, tightening his embrace around her.
Ivy didn't think much of it, snuggling closer into his arms before falling asleep.
On this night, Henry Sullivan was sleepless. As dawn broke, he got up, walked to the balcony, opened the window, and smoked two cigarettes. Normally, he didn't smoke, but today, for some reason, he craved it.
After finishing, he checked the time—it was 4:30 a.m. He made a call to Roman Hughes.
The phone took a while to get picked up, and Roman Hughes sounded a bit frantic.
"Oh my God, Henry Sullivan, it's 4 a.m. Have you gone mad?"
"What did you mean by the message you sent me last night? Where did you see her?"
