I zoomed in on the feed, my fingers pinching the screen.

His face was pale, his jaw set in a hard, desperate line.

He climbed the stone steps two at a time, his wet leather shoes slipping slightly on the third step.

He reached the heavy oak double doors and pulled his keys from his pocket.

I watched him select the brass master key.

He slid it into the lock.

He tried to turn it to the right.

The key didn’t move.

He frowned, pulling the key out slightly and shoving it back in.

He twisted it harder, his knuckles turning white.

The lock remained stubborn and still.

He muttered something, his lips moving quickly, though the camera’s external microphone only picked up the steady patter of the rain.

He tried a different key.

Then another.

He took his briefcase and slammed it against the doorframe in frustration.

“Come on,” I whispered to the empty hospital room.

Ethan grabbed the brass doorknob and shook it with both hands.

The heavy wood didn’t budge.

He stepped back, looking up at the windows of the master bedroom.