“He won’t,” my father said. “I’ve already contacted the head of hospital security. They are locking down the floor.”

We stood there for a moment in the quiet hallway.

The hum of the vending machines seemed incredibly loud.

I looked down at my hand, still clutching my phone.

Suddenly, the screen lit up again.

It wasn’t a text from Ethan.

It was an unknown number.

The message was a short video file.

My thumb hovered over the play button, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I pressed play.

The video was dark, shaky, and shot from inside a moving car.

The camera panned down to show a small, white hospital blanket.

In the corner of the frame was a tiny, moving hand.

The video ended.