She had crawled out of the woods barefoot, collapsing near his bike, her lips blue, her eyes unfocused but startlingly aware, and when he wrapped her in his jacket she’d whispered words no child should know, not scared words, not confused ones, but clinical ones, like she was reciting something drilled into her.
“They said the trial was complete,” she murmured. “They said I wasn’t needed anymore.”
Knox didn’t understand then.
He understood now.
In the hallway outside Trauma Bay Two, the doors burst open without warning.
Three men in dark suits stepped inside, moving with practiced coordination, their badges flashing briefly before disappearing back into their jackets, and the one in front, a silver-haired man with a smile that never touched his eyes, spoke as if he owned the air itself.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” he said smoothly. “We’ll take it from here.”
Elaine stepped forward, her heart pounding. “She’s unstable. You can’t move her.”
The man tilted his head slightly. “Nurse Porter, I’d advise you to step aside.”
Elaine stiffened. “You know my name?”
“We know everything,” he replied lightly. “And we’d prefer this remain… uncomplicated.”