The sterile lights in the hospital corridor flickered above as Leila followed the detective to a private room. Every step away from Ethan filled her with a gnawing anxiety, her mind racing with a mix of fear for him and a growing dread that Marcus’s reach was far from over.
"Take a seat, Ms. Daniels," the detective said, gesturing toward a plain chair at the small table.
Leila glanced over her shoulder, as if hoping the operating room doors would burst open with news of Ethan's recovery. But the hallway was eerily silent, save for the occasional sound of rushing footsteps and the beeping machines.
She sat down, her hands trembling as she clasped them together on the cold surface of the table. The detective’s sharp gaze didn’t miss a thing, and she could feel the weight of his scrutiny.
