The smell of antiseptic and old floor wax seemed to grow stronger, making me dizzy.

I went to the door and cracked it open.

Just down the hall, near the nurse’s station, a county sheriff’s deputy sat on a folding chair.

He was reading a magazine, but his eyes flicked toward me the moment the door clicked.

I closed the door quickly.

We were trapped, and Leo was walking straight into a setup.

My phone buzzed again in my hand.

It was another text, but this time it was from Leo.

“I’m inside the lobby,” the text read.

“Melanie’s door is open.”

I frantically began to type a warning, my fingers slipping on the screen.

“Leo, don’t go in, she’s on the phone with me, she said—”

Before I could hit send, the phone in my hand buzzed with an incoming call.

It wasn’t Leo.

It was a local number I didn’t recognize.

I answered it immediately.

“Is this Grace Sullivan?” a man’s voice asked.

The voice was deep, professional, and entirely devoid of warmth.

“Yes,” I said, my voice barely audible.