Chapter 17

The hallway outside Room 513 smells like bleach and burnt coffee and something colder, like rain on metal. My heart monitor back at my bay is still pinging faintly through the ceiling speakers—tiny distant beeps marking out what’s left of my courage. Thirty‑something. Ticking down. “Emily.” Noah’s fingers close around my elbow, firm, urgent. “You should be on a monitor, not out here.” I jerk away. “You’re going in there?” He glances at the door plaque—513, the number...