Through the receiver, I could hear the crackle of a fireplace.

I heard the slow, rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the background.

Outside my hospital window, another flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by a low rumble of thunder.

I pressed the phone hard against my ear, ignoring the dull ache in my chest.

I heard a door open on the other end of the line.

Heavy footsteps echoed across what sounded like hardwood floors.

“Ethan,” Eleanor’s voice said, sharp and clear. “You look terrible.”

“Where is he?” Ethan’s voice was rough, strained with anger and exhaustion.

“Sit down, Ethan,” Richard said. His voice was more distant now, coming from across the room.

“I am not sitting down,” Ethan said. “I want the truth.”

“The truth is whatever we decide it is,” Eleanor said. “You should have stayed at the hospital.”

“I know what you did,” Ethan said, his voice rising. “I know you targeted Hannah.”

I held my breath, pressing my hand against my stomach as a sharp pain flared there.