“I have to go downstairs,” he said, tucking the phone away.

“Grandmother is waiting in the library.”

He turned and walked toward the door, his posture tense.

“Lock the door behind me,” he said over his shoulder.

“We don’t need the night staff wandering in here.”

He stepped out, and the heavy door clicked shut behind him.

I waited ten seconds, listening to his footsteps fade down the long, carpeted hallway.

I hurried to the door and turned the heavy brass key in the lock, securing the room.

Then I rushed back to the bedside.

Ethan’s eyes flew open.

They were bloodshot, but the fog of the drugs seemed to have cleared, replaced by a sharp, cold focus.

“Jason,” he whispered.

The name came out as a raspy hiss, scraping against his throat.

“He did this to me.”

I leaned down, my ear close to his mouth so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice.

“Don’t strain yourself,” I whispered. “You’re still too weak.”

“No time,” Ethan muttered, his hand reaching out from under the duvet.

He gripped my wrist with sudden, desperate strength.