48

Ixora wasn't sure how much time had elapsed since she had returned to the house and entered Berezira's room. She found herself fixated on a piece of paper clutched firmly in her hand, which bore the name "J. Brown" along with a string of numbers.

An internal debate raged within her. If she took this step, there would be no turning back. If she faltered now, there would be no second chance.

"It's for their own good. It's for their own good," she whispered to herself as she slipped her hand beneath the oversized nightgown she had layered over her more provocative attire. Retrieving her cellphone, she glanced around, checking if Jerald had returned to the house. The surroundings remained unsettlingly quiet; he had not.

With uncertainty gnawing at her, she placed the phone back into her pocket, then withdrew it. This process repeated itself several times—phone in, phone out, phone in, phone out.

Finally, she let out a sigh of resignation and pulled the phone out once more. Fingers trembli