Within ten minutes, Rafaela’s phone lit up with forty-seven missed calls.

Twenty-six were from Emiliano.

Not one of them had come while she was actually out there walking in the storm.

She noticed the timing before she noticed anything else, because the timing was the whole story.

Her phone had been in her pocket the entire walk, fully charged, fully in service.

If any one of them had felt a flicker of conscience while she trudged up that dark road — if Emiliano had glanced out the rain-streaked window and pictured her out there, if Leticia had felt one moment’s doubt, if a single relative in that group chat had thought this has gone too far — they had her number.