“They must have cut the main lines,” Liam muttered, his hand gripping the edge of the dresser.

The rain outside started to lash against the glass window, a steady, rhythmic drumming that mocked the chaos inside.

Liam turned back to me, his face a shadow in the green light.

He reached down and ripped the IV line from the back of my hand.

The sharp sting was nothing compared to the deep ache in my chest.

A drop of dark blood welled on my skin.

He pressed a square of sterile gauze into my palm.

“Hold that tight,” he ordered.

I pressed the gauze down, my eyes fixed on his silhouette.

“How did they get past the main lobby?” I asked.

“Ethan has people everywhere, Claire,” Liam said.

He was looking at the small glass window in the door, which was covered by a thin plastic blind.

“Even in the local precinct,” he added.

My chest tightened with a cold, hollow dread.

If Ethan’s associates had already intervened, the police response we had prayed for would never arrive.

“You think they let him out?” I whispered.