The voice was young.

It hitched, a small stall before the harder words.

“It is.”

“I think you know who I am,” the woman said, “and I need to show you something.”

“I don’t know who you are.”

“I’d rather not do this on the phone.”

Behind her a bus idled, the low churn of it coming through the speaker, then a door alarm and a hiss.

“Then say it now, or I’m hanging up.”