The air in the elevator tasted like metal and dread. I must've punched the ground floor button six times before it even moved. My palms were shaking. My heels suddenly felt like medieval torture devices. I didn’t even say goodbye... I just left. Bolt-out-of-the-building, shove-the-clipboard-at-Camille left. I think she muttered something about professionalism, but I was already halfway to imploding.
Jack. Hospital. Emergency contact.
What the hell happened to him?
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I sprinted past the valet like I was fleeing a crime scene. The sidewalk blurred. My phone slipped twice while trying to book a cab. Then I gave up and just started screaming at traffic until a Bolt driver took pity on me. I dove in and barked the address. St. Mercy.
My reflection in the wi
