The hallway outside became noisy again.

Two hospital administrators in white coats appeared at the door, followed by two armed security guards.

They looked into the room, their eyes widening when they recognized my father.

“Mr. Hartwell,” the lead administrator said, stepping inside. “We didn’t realize you were on the premises.”

“My daughter is staying here tonight,” my father said, not looking back at them.

“I expect the security of this wing to be absolute,” he added.

“Of course,” the administrator said, nodding quickly. “Whatever you need.”

Nolan stood frozen in the center of the room, the forged custody papers still clutched in his hand.

His phone buzzed again, a long, continuous vibration that signaled an incoming call.

He slowly pulled it out and looked at the screen.

The caller ID showed Sloane’s name.

I watched his face drain of what little color remained as he stared at the flashing screen.

“Answer it, Nolan,” I said softly.

“Answer it, Nolan,” I said softly.

His thumb hovered over the glass, trembling.

He swiped the screen and pressed the phone to his ear, his shoulder hunched as if to shield himself from the room.