43 seconds.
Static comes through from speaker, making me jump. Frantically, I hold the walkie talkie up to mouth, not bothering to be quiet this time. "Dylan? Dylan, please. I- I need to know if you're okay." My stomach churns more insistently, mind racing with a million different possibilities as I pace back and forward—holding the walkie talkie like a lifeline—not paying any mind to the stares of everyone behind me. My eyes flick between the area surrounding us, the walkie talkie, and the clock.
PIECE OF MY STORY FOR YALL TO TAKE A LOOK AT !!
(99 NIGHTS)
