The voicemails were worse. Not threats, exactly. Just breathing. A soft, rhythmic sound like someone asleep on the other end of the world. Once, a whisper: “You there, Ellen?”

She stared at the screen. Her landline wasn’t ringing—true to form, Comcast had blocked it there. But the caller had simply pivoted. Found her mobile. Found her like a bloodhound finds a lost shoe.

A pause. Then that same whisper, closer now: “You changed your number, Ellen. But you can’t change your voice.”

“You’re safe now,” Latoya replied. And maybe it was just customer-service autopilot, but it sounded like she meant it. The silence lasted four hours. Then Ellen’s cell phone buzzed.