“The backup generator just lost its fuel line,” the voice continued, sounding panicked. “And the service elevator just went down.”

Before I could process the words, the lights in my room flickered once, twice, and then died completely.

The fetal monitor stopped beeping, its screen going pitch black.

The room was plunged into a deep, freezing darkness, lit only by the grey winter light filtering through the snow-slicked window.

In the hallway, a high-pitched alarm began to wail.

And then, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps running toward my door.

The door handle rattled, the brass lock groaning under sudden pressure.

I pulled the thin hospital blanket up to my chin.

The door burst open, and a figure stepped into the dim, grey light of the room.

It was Adrian.

His black wool coat was torn at the shoulder, and his breathing was ragged.

“Claire,” he said, his voice a low hiss.

He closed the door behind him, locking it with a sharp click.

“We have to go. Now.”

“What is happening?” I asked, my voice shaking as I clutched my pregnant belly. “Where is Miller?”