“Not here.”
“Especially here.” His eyes gleam in the darkness. “This little fantasy world you’ve built yourself—the quiet storekeeper in the quaint mountain town? It’s not real. And it won’t be here for much longer.”
My hands clench at my sides. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” Ryder steps back, creating distance between us. “For old times’ sake, I’ll give you some advice: get out of this town while you can.”
The question comes out as a growl. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a warning. From one brother-in-arms to another.” He turns away, heading deeper into the woods. “I saved your life once, Ghost. Don’t expect me to do it again. You don’t want to be on the bad side of the people I work for.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Who are you working for?”
Ryder just whistles some tuneless melody as he saunters away.
I could follow him. Could force answers from him with methods I swore I’d never use again. The temptation burns like acid in my throat.
Instead, I watch him disappear among the trees, his last words hanging in the air between us.
Whatever Ryder is planning, it’s bigger than lowball real estate offers to serve his business interests. Ryder is a lot of terrible things, but a liar isn’t one of them. I believe him when he says that the town is at risk.
The question is what the hell I’m supposed to do about it.
THIRTY-TWO
HOLLY
I’melbow-deep in charts when Greta bursts into the tiny shared charting space. Her face is flushed, hair escaping from her usually perfect bun.
“Dr. Chang, did you see my message? It’s about Emma Frost.”
My heart drops. I last checked my messages only an hour ago, but she wouldn’t be coming to me directly if it weren’t something serious. “No, sorry. What’s happening?”
“Jesus.” I immediately reach out for the chart Greta is holding. “What happened?”
“Poor girl is in a coma. They’ve transferred her to the pediatric ICU at Anchorage General.”
It takes a few seconds for her words to filter in. “Oh, no.”
“We got a call from the hospitalist this morning. Emma started seizing this morning, then wouldn’t wake up. Evan’s condition is deteriorating too.”
I scan the notes, my stomach knotting tighter with each line. The twins were stable a few days ago—sick, but stable. Now this.
“Is Dr. Mercer with a patient right now?” I ask, mind racing. Maybe the old man will finally listen now that a child is in critical condition.
“No, he just finished with the walk-ins.”
“Maya Calloway is coming in this afternoon with her mother. She’s another kid with similar symptoms. Please pull her chart for Dr. Mercer.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. This is too important for me to let Mercer’s old-fashioned attitudes get to me. His opinion of me is less important than helping these kids.
Dr. Mercer stands at the nurses’ station, flipping through charts with a bored expression. He looks up as I approach, his face immediately shifting to professional concern.
“Dr. Chang. I heard about the Frost girl. Unfortunate development.”
“It’s more than unfortunate,” I say, keeping my voice level despite the frustration bubbling beneath. “It’s part of a pattern. I have another child coming in today with very similar symptoms. Metallic taste, joint pain, cognitive changes, tremors?—“
He holds up a hand. “I’m aware of your concerns about a potential cluster. But the hospital team in Anchorage has taken over the Frost case. They have resources we simply don’t have here. You should let them handle things and focus on your work here.”
