My heart did not race.
That frightened me more than panic would have.
Grant was free.
Grant was cornered.
And cornered men do not become less dangerous.
The hospital moved me within the hour.
Not officially. Not with paperwork Grant’s lawyers could subpoena. Dr. Reed arranged it through a quiet network of favors, speaking in low tones to administrators and security staff. Detective Voss placed two officers outside the new room under a different name.
For the first time in days, I was not Clara Mercer.
I was Jane Hale in room 614.
The room had no view.
I liked that.
Views meant visibility.
Night came slowly. The hospital settled into its after-hours rhythm: distant wheels, murmured voices, the soft mechanical sigh of ventilation. Dr. Reed checked on me after midnight, though his shift had ended hours earlier.
“You should go home,” I said.
“I don’t think anyone is sleeping much tonight.”
