The second shock delivered a loud, metallic slap.

For a second, there was only silence.

Then, a jagged line spiked on the green screen.

A single, slow beep sounded.

Then another.

“We have a pulse,” the nurse said, her shoulders dropping in relief. “Sinus rhythm is returning.”

“Keep her on the ventilator,” Dr. Shah said, wiping his brow with the back of his gloved hand. “Monitor her blood pressure closely.”

He turned to me, his dark eyes serious.

“Mr. Whitmore, you need to step outside,” he said gently. “She is stable for now, but she is incredibly fragile.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

My throat felt like it was coated in dust.

I turned and walked back through the double doors into the quiet hallway.

Ruth was waiting there, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Her eyes were red and swollen.

“She is alive,” I said.

Ruth let out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank God.”

“Now tell me the rest,” I said, walking toward the end of the corridor where the window looked out over the dark city. “I want to know exactly what my father did.”