Mrs. Gable backed away from the cart, her face completely drained of color.

She caught my eye and made a subtle, downward gesture with her hand toward her pocket.

I watched her carefully as she moved toward the bathroom to fetch a cold compress.

As she passed me, she leaned in close.

“The bottom drawer,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the monitor. “Take it.”

Jason was busy looking at the digital monitor, his back turned to us.

I stepped toward the medical cart, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I reached down and pulled the bottom drawer open.

Inside lay a thick, manila folder and a small, cheap burner phone.

I grabbed them both and slid them into the deep pocket of my cardigan, right next to the petition and my father’s contract.

“What are you doing over there?” Jason asked, turning around suddenly.

I pulled my hand back and pressed it against my side.

“I was looking for some towels,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Jason eyed me suspiciously, his gaze lingering on my pocket.