“Good,” I reply. “Escort the nurse to finalize the paperwork, then meet me in the control room.”
He nods once, already scanning the hallway. “Understood.”
Sage glances back at me as Hope leans on her arm. Her eyes carry a hundred questions she doesn't voice. I answer them with a nod, quiet, deliberate assurance.
While Sage helps her sister gather her things, Albert moves to the doorway, speaking briefly with the head nurse before guiding her toward the administrative wing.
Vega rises from his place near the wall, his ears pricking at my movement. He pads after me without command, a silent shadow falling into step at my side as we leave the room. I follow Misha toward the control room, the air cooler there, humming with low machinery. Screens cover the wall, cycling through live footage from the property, including the front gate, drive, and patient wings. Albert joins us a minute later, the echo of his boots fading as he shuts the door behind him.
Albert folds his arms. “Kolya is ready on channel two. He will take point on the return.”
I lean over the central desk, mapping the route on the screen. My finger traces the path back to Aspen Ridge, noting intersections and potential choke points. “Kolya leads. We will switch lanes every fifteen minutes until we are clear of the city.”
Misha's gaze moves toward the monitor showing Sage and Hope. “She is nervous.”
“She has reason to be.”
A nurse appears at the door. “We'll have Miss Bellamy ready for transport in ten minutes.”
“Good.” I straighten, smoothing my hand over my tie out of habit more than need. “Stay sharp. If anyone so much as hesitates in the wrong place, shut it down.”
Albert nods and exits, his steps solid and precise.
I turn toward the main monitor where their image fills the frame. Sage is carefully helping Hope into her coat. Vega lies at my feet, alert and still, his gaze fixed on the screen as if he understands what’s at stake. There’s no sound, only the silent footage of two women moving through a calm that doesn’t belong to my world.
Misha checks his watch. “We should get her out before noon. Less traffic, fewer eyes.”
“Agreed.”
For a while, everything unfolds as planned. The final forms are signed. The nurses prepare Hope's medications. Sage gathers the few belongings from her bedside: a paperback, a folded cardigan, and a worn sketchbook. I catalog every movement, every face, every stir of the air. It's too still.
Then the first sound breaks the calm. A monitor beeps somewhere down the hall. Once. Twice. Louder. Then the alarm bursts into life, a high, insistent wail that splits the air.
Sage flinches, instinct pulling her closer to Hope.
A nurse runs down the corridor. “Code blue, room fourteen! We need assistance!”
Misha's head snaps up. His hand goes to his weapon out of reflex.
Albert moves instantly, stepping aside to clear the corridor. “Get the medics through,” he orders, his voice even but sharp. He positions himself at the door's edge, scanning each passing staff member. His training is for combat, not chaos like this, but he adapts fast.
I step to the threshold, my eyes narrowing on the rush of uniforms. A gurney wheels past. A young male nurse shouts for an oxygen tank. Another slams into the wall trying to turn the corner. It's all too loud, too fast.
Misha mutters, “They're overreacting.”
“They're acting,” I correct.
The word lands hard between us. Because everything, the timing, the urgency, the sudden emergency in a neighboring room, falls into place too perfectly. Ten minutes before our departure. Just enough noise to draw my men away from their posts.
Misha unholsters his gun, the metallic click loud beneath the blare of alarms.
Down the hall, Albert leans forward, eyes following the medics as they shove through a swinging door. For a heartbeat, everything feels suspended, the moment before impact when instinct tries to warn you and logic tries to explain it away.
Then the lights flicker. Just once. Barely enough for anyone else to notice. But I see it. I hear the subtle grind of mechanical locks releasing somewhere deeper in the facility.
My breath slows.
“Misha,” I call out, already moving. “Something's wrong.”
