You'd just taken a bite of treacle tart when your phone buzzed against your thigh.

You pulled it out under the table, barely glancing at the screen. One new message. Unknown number.

The sender ID wasn't saved. No area code you recognized. Just a string of digits that meant nothing to you.

You unlocked it.

A third time, slower, the way you'd check a wound you weren't sure was real.

You looked good today. As if it were nothing. As if the sender had been there, watching you, and simply decided to let you know.

Across the table, Daphne was mid-laugh at something Theo had said, her hand resting on his forearm. Neither of them noticed the way your fork had gone still.

The Great Hall was still loud. Still bright. Still full of people.

But for a moment, it felt like the room had gone quiet around just you.