He kept his eyes fixed on the small screen, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

“It is Raskin,” he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“He says Brenner is there.”

“The landlord?” I asked, stepping closer to the bed.

“Yes,” Ethan said. “He has the papers.”

Outside, the Chicago wind rattled the thick glass of the hospital window, throwing a sheet of sleet against the pane.

The sound was like small stones hitting the glass over and over.

Inside, the only other sound was the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.

Then, the rhythm changed.

The steady tone skipped, caught itself, and began to chime in a rapid, irregular pattern.

Dr. Rao stepped forward immediately, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor.

“Mr. Caldwell, step back,” she ordered, her voice calm but firm.

Mary’s fingers twitched against the pale blue hospital sheet.

Her eyelids fluttered, the long lashes casting faint shadows against her hollow cheeks.

“Mary,” Ethan whispered, ignoring the doctor’s warning.

He took a half-step toward the bed, his hand reaching out but not quite touching her arm.