The lobby of the medical center smelled of floor wax and antiseptic.

Two men in dark suits stood near the reception desk, talking in low voices to a hospital security guard.

They didn’t look like local police.

They looked like military investigators.

I spotted Ethan sitting in a vinyl chair in the corner, his head in his hands.

His hair was damp, and his tie was loosened.

“Ethan,” I said, stopping in front of him.

He looked up, his eyes bloodshot and wide with exhaustion.

“Grace,” he breathed, standing up quickly. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Mother called me,” I said. “What happened to the Colonel?”

Ethan looked over his shoulder at the men in suits.

“He had some kind of seizure,” Ethan whispered. “Or a stroke. They aren’t sure yet.”

“Where is Cassandra?” I asked.

“She’s upstairs with her mother,” he said. “They won’t let me up there.”

“Why are the police here, Ethan?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Because of what happened right before he collapsed,” Ethan said.

He pulled me toward a quieter hallway, near a bank of vending machines.