The message glowed on Lucy's phone screen, each pixel a tiny taunt. It was the kind of message that made your stomach clench and your brain whisper frantic warnings. It felt like a digital breadcrumb leading straight into a Grimm's fairy tale, and Lucy was pretty sure she wasn't going to be the princess.
"Seriously? This has 'Nigerian prince' levels of sketchiness," Cole declared, his voice a blend of amusement and genuine concern. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching Lucy's increasingly agitated orbit around his living room. The panda donut, a peace offering from earlier, lay abandoned on a crumpled napkin, a testament to the disruption of Lucy's sugar-fueled calm. Her usual energetic hum had morphed into a frantic, internal buzzing.
"It's a trap, right?" she finally asked, her voice tight. The question hung in the air, heavy with her own anxieties.
