“Describe the rock?” My brows furrow as I turn toward it. If the situation weren’t so dire, I’d think he was playing a prank on me. “It’s pretty square, as far as rocks go. About the size of Prada’s straw tote bag from last season. When you stare at it from a certain angle, the surface looks shockingly like the face of a sloth.” It’s hard to tell if the heavy static crackling through the phone is from the patchy reception, or just from him sighing. “Please never—get lost again.”
