“Stay back,” I said.

“Evelyn, be reasonable,” Marjorie said, her eyes narrowing.
“You have no money, no family, and no future.”
“The baby belongs with us.”

Nolan lunged forward to grab Maisie’s blanket.

I slammed my palm against the red button.
I did not just press it; I held it down for three long seconds.
Immediately, a sharp, pulsing tone echoed through the ceiling speakers.
The digital panel on the wall flashed amber, then bright red.

“Code Crimson,” a calm, synthetic voice announced over the intercom.
“Maternity ward, Sector Four.”
“Lockdown initiated.”

Outside in the hallway, the heavy fire doors slid shut with a loud, metallic clang.
The electromagnetic locks engaged with a heavy thud.
Nolan froze, his hands hovering inches from my daughter.
“What did you do?” he hissed, his face flushing red.

“I secured the room,” I said.

Sloane rushed to the door, pulling hard on the handle.
“It’s locked,” she said, her voice rising in pitch.
“The badge scanner is dead.”
“We’re locked in.”

“Call your security contacts, Nolan,” Marjorie snapped, her composure slipping.
“Get this door open.”

I reached under my pillow and pulled out my personal phone.
It was not the cheap prepaid phone Nolan had bought for me.
It was a black, encrypted device I had kept hidden in my overnight bag.
I unlocked it and tapped the single contact stored in the memory.

I placed the phone to my ear.
It rang once.

“Evelyn,” a deep, resonant voice answered.
The voice belonged to Theodore Hartwell.
The man who controlled the transit systems, the real estate, and the political machinery of the entire state.
My father.

“Dad,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Nolan’s hardening face.
“Nolan is in my room.”
“He is trying to take Maisie.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.
I heard the rustle of papers and the low murmur of men in expensive suits.
“Where are you?” my father asked.