“She is on her way down from surgery,” the nurse replied, adjusting the plastic oxygen mask over my face.

The smell of rubber and sterile condensation filled my lungs.

Another wave of pain rolled through my lower back, sharp and heavy.

I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing the courtroom where Callum was being held.

The door to my room opened, and Arthur Vance stepped inside, his gray suit coat damp from the rain outside.

His face was pale, his tie slightly crooked.

“I just spoke to our legal team at the courthouse,” Arthur said, breathing heavily.

He walked over to the side of my bed and looked down at me with a quiet intensity.

“The judge denied Callum’s bail,” he whispered.

“He is being transported to the federal holding facility downtown.”

A strange sense of relief washed over me, momentarily dulling the physical pain in my spine.

“He is locked up,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“For now,” Arthur said, nodding. “But Vivian’s lawyers are already filing an emergency appeal.”

The monitor began to beep at a faster tempo, the high-pitched sounds filling the small room.