A hit.

She was in the system.

She had registered for the screening under Carter’s last name.

The scheduled time was 8:30 AM.

I looked at the accession number next to her name.

*TX-998421.*

I quickly wrote the number down on a scrap of paper.

This was the key.

With this number, I could track the sample and download the raw genetic data the moment the lab finished the analysis.

Suddenly, a noise echoed from the far end of the hallway.

The sound of footsteps.

And voices.

One of them was high-pitched, complaining.

Courtney.

“I don’t see why we have to do the intake tonight,” she was saying.

“It’s just standard procedure for VIP patients, Ms. Vance,” a calm, professional voice replied. “It saves time in the morning.”

I froze.

They were coming toward the intake station.

I looked around frantically.

There was a small utility closet a few feet away.

I lunged for the door, turned the handle, and slipped inside, pulling it shut just as the footsteps rounded the corner.

Through the slatted vent of the closet door, I watched.