Chapter 4 - Shadows in the WardBy 4:00 a.m., St. Catherine’s had quieted down into the eerie, muted hum typical of late-night hospital shifts. Malcolm had set up a command post in the vacant waiting room down the hall, looping security feeds from the entire neighborhood directly onto a secure tablet.
I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, fully dressed in a spare black shirt Malcolm had scavenged from my car, ignoring the doctor’s orders to stay overnight. June was resting in the adjoining recovery room under the watchful eye of two trusted guards.
The door to my room clicked open. I expected Malcolm, or perhaps one of the attending physicians with discharge papers.
Instead, Tessa walked in, carrying a small paper cup of lukewarm water and a bottle of prescribed painkillers. She stopped dead when she saw me standing upright, boots laced, ready to walk out.
“I discharge patients here, Mr. Calder. Not you discharging yourself,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“My sister isn't safe in this building,” I replied, walking toward the door. “Every minute we stay in a fixed location is a gamble I’m not willing to take.”
“And walking out with an unhealed abdominal wall tear is a great way to hemorrhage before you even reach your car,” she shot back, stepping into my path.
I looked down at her. Up close, under the harsh corridor lights, I noticed the slight exhaustion shadowing her eyes—the fine lines of a woman who carried the weight of too many broken lives on her shoulders every single day. She wasn't intimidated by my size, my wealth, or the invisible army of killers circling my family.
“You’re remarkably hard to get rid of, Ms. Ward,” I murmured.
“That’s usually what my supervisors say right before they threaten to write me up.” She handed me the pills and the cup. “Take them. At least pretend to follow medical advice so I don't feel like my stitching was wasted.”
I took the medication, swallowing it dry. “Come with us.”
She blinked, surprised. “Excuse me?”
“The men who targeted June aren't going to stop because the first attempt failed. They’ll try again. My estate in Westchester is a fortress. You step foot outside these hospital doors tonight, you become a loose end in their operational theater. Come with us. You’ll be safe there.”
Tessa laughed—a dry, humorless sound. “Mr. Calder, I have a life here. I have an apartment, a job, a mortgage, and a cat waiting for breakfast. I am not running off to a billionaire’s fortress because a bunch of thugs decided to ruin my Friday night.”
“This isn't a request, Tessa,” I said, using her first name for the first time.
Her expression hardened instantly. “Try giving me an order, Rafe, and see how fast I call hospital security to throw you out.”
Before I could answer, the overhead lights in the hallway flickered violently and died.
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Emergency generators kicked in a second later with a loud, industrial hum, washing the corridor in an sickly amber glow. Across the hall, one of my guards stepped out of June’s room, his hand flying to his holster as the secure radio clipped to his shoulder burst into static.
“Boss,” a voice crackled through the static, distorted and panicked. “We’ve got movement in the stairwell. Multiple profiles. Professional gear. They’re coming up.”
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