Chapter 3 - The Ascent Through the Ribcage of the HospitalClimbing through the dark, grease-stained belly of Harwick Medical Center felt like descending into the ribs of a mechanical beast.
Callum led the way, hoisting himself effortlessly from ladder rung to ladder rung inside the vertical shaft, while I followed closely behind, my hospital scrubs snagging on rusted bolts and fiberglass insulation. The air was thick with the smell of warm hydraulic fluid and dust that had settled decades before the hospital was even modernized.
Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. I had already been on my feet for sixteen hours straight before the elevator dropped; now, scrambling up a vertical maintenance ladder with adrenaline flooding my bloodstream, I felt every limit of my physical endurance being tested.
"Watch your footing," Callum’s voice echoed down from a few yards above. "The brackets on section three are rusted out from an old steam leak."
"You seem entirely too familiar with the structural flaws of a building you don't own," I panted, pausing for a fraction of a second to catch my breath against a metal crossbeam.
"I don't own the building," Callum replied, his voice dropping down from the darkness above. "I just own the land it was built on. My grandfather leased the parcel to the city back in the fifties. There isn't a pipe, wire, or ventilation shaft in this hospital that isn't documented in my personal archives."
That explained a lot. The Thorne syndicate wasn't just a band of thugs running street corners; they were corporate landlords of the city's infrastructure. They owned the foundations upon which polite society pretended to operate.
We reached a heavy steel access door marked Authorized Personnel Only - Sector 7.
Callum pulled a small electronic device from his pocket—a sleek, matte-black keyfob that didn't look like any standard hospital passcard. He pressed it against the magnetic lock. With a soft green flash and a pneumatic click, the heavy door swung outward into a dimly lit corridor.
We stepped out into the seventh floor.
The contrast was immediate and jarring. Gone were the grease and darkness of the shaft; here, the hallway was lined with pale blue walls, polished linoleum floors, and the familiar hum of overhead fluorescent lights.
It was the private wing.
And it was completely deserted.
"Where are the guards?" I whispered, pulling my white lab coat tighter around my shoulders as I checked the nursing station. The computers were logged in, a half-eaten sandwich sat on a paper plate, but the swivel chairs were empty.
"My people cleared the floor ten minutes before I stepped into that elevator," Callum said, walking with silent, predatory strides down the corridor toward room 714. "The federal detail at the end of the hall was... reassigned."
Reassigned. A polite word for eliminated or locked in a supply closet.
We stopped outside Room 714.
The door was heavy oak with a small frosted-glass window. A digital monitor mounted beside the frame blinked with steady green lines, tracking heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation.
Callum reached for the brass handle.
I stepped in front of him, planting my hand firmly against the wood of the door.
"Stop," I said, my voice finally regaining its professional authority.
Callum paused, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a dangerous, questioning intensity. "Move, Sarah."
"No," I said, refusing to back down even though my knees were shaking. "You want to get him out of here? Fine. But look at those monitors, Mr. Thorne. His blood pressure is eighty over fifty. He’s in septic shock. If you unplug those IV lines and drag him out into the night air without stabilizing his electrolyte levels, he won't make it two blocks. You won't be saving him; you'll be executing him."
Callum stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. The silence in the hallway was absolute. For a second, I thought he was going to brush me aside, draw his gun, or simply do it himself.
Instead, his jaw tightened, and the rigid posture of the syndicate boss softened into something desperate.
May you like
"Save him," Callum said quietly, his voice dropping all pretense of command. "That's why I brought you here. Do whatever it takes."
I pushed past him, opened the door to Room 714, and stepped into the room where the fate of Chicago’s underworld was currently fighting for every breath.
