The phone on my bedside table began to ring again.

The screen lit up, but this time it wasn’t an internal hospital extension.

It was an restricted number.

Ethan reached over and answered it, pressing the speaker button.

“Ethan,” a woman’s voice said.

It was Eleanor.

Her voice was as smooth and perfect as polished glass.

“Mother,” Ethan said.

“I understand you have been making a nuisance of yourself in the records room,” Eleanor said.

“The records are already gone, Mother,” Ethan said. “Your little game is over.”

“My dear boy,” Eleanor said, a soft, chilling laugh coming through the speaker. “The records are just paper.”

She paused, and I could hear the faint sound of wind chimes in the background of her call.

“The future of this family is currently sleeping in incubator four,” Eleanor said.

My heart stopped.

“Don’t touch them,” Ethan growled.

“I am merely ensuring they receive the best possible private care,” Eleanor said. “At the estate.”

“They are too fragile to be moved,” Ethan said. “It would kill them.”

“Then we must be very careful when we transport them,” Eleanor said.