(Hailey Miller POV)
I didn’t eat breakfast. Not a bite. My eyes kept darting to the time: 9:42 on my wrist, 9:49 on the hallway clock. That stubborn seven-minute gap still lingered, mocking me. Parker and Diaz were coming at ten. Ten sharp.
Neri left a tray with water and cups. “They’ll want coffee,” she said.
“Have some ready,” I replied, “but don’t offer it.”
I checked my folder again. Short titles, large print, like my brain needed them shouted at me:
• Hallway clock +7 (internal messaging)
• Transparent thread (rooms, carpet)
• Towel with hospital smell ≠ supplier Neri
• Photo: Caleb and me asleep, another house. Marked edge (P/R turned)
The photo was tucked in a manila envelope. I avoided looking at it, even though the image kept replaying in my mind: the high angle, the blue
