The silence in the study was absolute, save for the rain.

Ethan looked down at his phone again.

The blue light washed over his pale face.

“What police report, Grace?” he asked.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“It wasn’t a police report,” I said. “Not yet.”

I took a slow breath, trying to steady my heart.

“I was there that night, Ethan.”

He froze.

“Where?” he asked.

“St. Jude’s,” I said. “I was on the night shift.”

He stared at me, his eyes searching my face.

“You were the cleaner,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “I cleaned the third-floor recovery rooms and the administrative offices.”

“I saw Claire when they brought her in.”

“She looked so small in that bed.”

“I remember her hair. It was spread out on the pillow like gold.”

Ethan closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them, they were wet.

“What did you see, Grace?”

“I was in the hallway outside the operating room,” I said.

“I was changing the liner in the waste bin.”

“I heard the monitors screaming.”

“Then I saw Dr. Vance run out.”