The fluorescent lights above Chloe’s bed hummed like a warning.
Marcus stood between her and the door, shoulders rigid, one hand still curled around the metal rail as if the entire room might try to take her. Outside the reinforced glass, security teams moved in coordinated sweeps. Radios crackled. Elevators had been locked down ten minutes ago. No one entered or left the private wing without clearance that only he could give.
Chloe watched him from the inclined bed, the thin hospital gown doing nothing to hide the fine tremor in her fingers. The pain in her side had dulled to a deep, pulsing ache, but the real injury sat higher—somewhere behind her ribs, where trust used to live.
“They’re still searching the east stairwell,” Marcus said without turning. His voice was low, controlled, t
