“Copy that,” Marcus said. “I’m working on the door, but the terminal in the hallway is dead.”

A sharp electronic beep echoed from the back of the room.

I turned around, holding Clara tight against my chest.

A hidden seam in the white plastic wall paneling parted.

A tall man in blue surgical scrubs stepped into the room.

He carried a silver metal briefcase in his left hand and a ring of security keycards in his right.

He froze when he saw me.

He was thin, with graying hair slicked back and gold-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose.

His eyes darted from me to the empty crib, then back to my face.

“Who are you?” he stammered, backing toward the sliding panel.

I didn’t give him the chance to retreat.

I crossed the room in three long strides, using my body to block his path to the hidden exit.

“Don’t move,” I said, my voice flat and quiet.

He raised his hands, the metal briefcase clattering against the floor.

“I’m just the lead clinician,” he said, his voice shaking. “I don’t have anything to do with the security protocols.”