“They’re safe,” Ethan murmured, looking up at me. “For now.”

The backup generators groaned to life, and the overhead fluorescent lights flickered back on with a loud hum.

The electronic locks clicked shut again, sealing the ward.

“We can’t keep them here,” I said, looking at the security guard who was speaking into his radio.

“I know,” Ethan said. “My parents own the board of this hospital. They can override any security protocol.”

He grabbed his phone from his desk and typed a quick reply to the unknown number.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Someone who has been helping me gather the truth,” Ethan said, guiding me toward the back exit of the unit. “We have to go downstairs.”

We took the service elevator, which smelled of industrial bleach and damp concrete.

Ethan held my hand, his grip tight and cold.

The elevator doors opened into the sub-basement, a maze of pipes and locked storage cages.

We walked down a narrow hallway lit by a single bulb.

At the end of the hall, a door marked *Records Archive* stood slightly ajar.