“Someone gave it to her.”

I turned to look at Ruth.

Her face had gone completely white.

“The tea,” Ruth whispered, her voice barely audible.

“What tea, Ruth?” I asked.

“Vance,” she said, her hands trembling.

“He was in the kitchen earlier today.”

“He insisted on making her a cup of tea before she fell ill,” Ruth said.

The realization hit me like a physical blow.

Vance had tried to silence her permanently.

“We need to tell the police immediately,” I said.

“I have already contacted the officer on duty here,” Dr. Shah said.

“Can we see her?” I asked.

“Only for a moment,” he said.

“She is very weak.”

I pushed open the door to Room 312.

The room was dim, lit only by the green glow of the heart monitor.

Claire lay in the bed, looking small and fragile beneath the white sheets.

Her eyes were closed, but her hand twitched slightly on the mattress.

“Claire,” I whispered, walking to the side of the bed.

The boys followed me, holding hands.

“Claire?” Lucas called out softly.

Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened.