Liam didn’t answer, but his grim silence was enough.

He knew how the system worked in this city, and he knew how much money Ethan had spent to grease the wheels.

Suddenly, a deafening blast shattered the center lock.

Wood chips exploded into the room, stinging my bare arms.

A neat, smoking hole appeared in the center of the wooden panel.

The smell of burnt gunpowder and ozone filled the small room, instantly overriding the scent of antiseptic.

Liam didn’t flinch.

He grabbed the heavy metal IV pole and wedged it diagonally between the door frame and the floor.

“We need to move, now,” Liam whispered.

He reached into his scrubs and pulled out a plastic security keycard.

“The service elevator at the end of the east corridor leads directly to the basement laundry,” he said.

“But how do we get out of this room?” I asked.

“Through the adjoining bathroom,” Liam said, pointing to the shared wall.

He helped me swing my legs over the edge of the mattress.

The moment my bare feet touched the cold floor, my knees buckled.