For eighty-nine days, the most feared man in Boston never opened his eyes—and somehow, I became the only person who spoke to him like he could still hear me. Then one stormy night, after I finished reading beside his bed and whispered, “Stay,” something happened that made every monitor in the ICU change at once. At 3:17 a.m., Mercy West Medical Center felt colder than usual. Rain streaked down the ICU windows, machines clicked in steady rhythms, and the fluorescent lights made everyone look more exhausted than they already were. My patient in room 412 had been unconscious for almost three months.

I held the silver cufflink in my palm, the metal biting into my skin.

Mr. Harrison, the hospital CEO. The man who had praised my dedication, who supposedly checked on Dominic out of concern. He was in on it. The corruption didn't just reach the local police; it owned the hospital itself.

I stood up, my mind racing. Where would the CEO take a paralyzed patient without being seen?

The old psychiatric wing.

It had been closed down for renovations six months ago. It was soundproof, isolated, and accessible only by a restricted elevator that the executive staff used.

I sprinted to the east wing, my soft-soled shoes making no sound on the linoleum. I reached the restricted elevator. My nurse's badge wouldn't work here, but I didn't need it. I grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher, smashed the glass of the emergency maintenance box, and pulled the manual override switch.

The doors slid open. I took the elevator down to the sub-basement.

When the doors opened, the air was stale and smelled of bleach. I crept down the darkened hallway, following a faint sliver of light coming from double doors at the end of the corridor.

I pressed my back against the wall and peered through the narrow crack between the doors.

In the center of an empty, gutted room, Dominic was strapped to a heavy metal medical chair. He was pale, his hospital gown torn, and he was bleeding from a fresh cut on his forehead. But his eyes were open, and they were burning with a terrifying rage.

Standing in front of him were Dr. Aris, Mr. Harrison the CEO, and Silas Vale.

“Where is the SD card, Dom?” Silas asked, casually adjusting his expensive suit cuffs. “You sent the nurse to get the girl. We know that much. But the girl didn't have it.”

“Go to hell, Silas,” Dominic spat, his voice stronger than it had been in my ear, though I could tell he was using every ounce of his remaining strength just to speak.

Silas chuckled, pulling a silver pistol from his jacket. “You always were too noble for this family. Mom’s favorite. The philanthropist. You thought you could turn over our ports to the DOJ and walk away? I shot you once, brother. I won't miss the head this time.”

I pulled out my phone and hit record, capturing Silas’s confession through the crack in the door. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the device steady.

Mr. Harrison looked nervous. “Silas, you promised this would be clean. If you shoot him here—”

“Shut up, Harrison,” Silas snapped. He pressed the barrel of the gun directly to Dominic’s forehead. “Last chance, Dom. Tell me where the card is, and I’ll let the little bastard live. If you don't, I will find Lily, and I will make you watch as I—”

“You forgot one thing, Silas,” Dominic interrupted, his voice dropping to a deadly, ice-cold register that sent shivers down my spine.

Silas paused, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

Dominic didn't look at his brother. Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his gaze past Silas’s shoulder, looking directly into the darkness of the hallway.

Looking directly at the crack in the door.

Looking at me.

“My nurse,” Dominic said, a bloody smile curling his lips.