He clipped the radio back to his belt and looked at me.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“I’m not leaving Luca alone,” I said.

As if on cue, the door opened wider, and Dr. Sullivan stepped into the room.

His blue scrubs were wrinkled, and his eyes looked tired behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

He looked at Miller, then at the metal pole in my hand, and then at Luca.

“What is going on here?” Dr. Sullivan asked.

“Doctor, I need you to stay with my son,” I said, lowering the pole slightly.

“I’m not leaving his bedside, Lauren,” Dr. Sullivan said. “His oxygen levels are stable, but he needs monitoring.”

“Is the door locked from the inside?” I asked.

“It can be,” Dr. Sullivan said. “I’ll personal-lock it. Nobody comes in but me.”

I looked at Miller.

“Lead the way,” I said.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and followed Miller out of the room.

The hallway was bright and smelled of bleach and old coffee.

The distant wail of sirens was louder now, echoing up the elevator shafts.