I bent over her so quickly I nearly knocked the monitor loose. My voice dropped to a whisper as I asked what she meant, but Emily struggled to answer, pain tightening every word. Alan urged me to stop, yet she refused, gripping my wrist with sudden strength. “Daniel… not safe,” she managed. When I pressed further, asking about Denver, her entire body reacted—fear flooding her face as if I had uncovered something buried too deep. “You saw it,” she whispered, before losing consciousness.
Everything spiraled after that. Tests were ordered, staff rushed in and out, and I stood frozen before calling Daniel. His concern sounded genuine, but something felt off. When Detective Ortiz arrived, her questions weren’t about a domestic attack—they were about hidden assets, secret dealings. Then she showed me the photo: Daniel, in surveillance footage tied to a federal investigation in Denver. Fraud. Illegal operations. A life I had never imagined him living.
Daniel arrived, frantic and pale, playing the part of a desperate husband. But when I showed him the bloodstained cloth with his initials, something cracked. Not guilt—recognition. Fear. His answers came too quickly, too carefully. Ortiz pressed him, and for a moment, his composure slipped. Then Alan called me away to review Emily’s scans.
What we found made everything worse. A small capsule was embedded beneath her skin—a tracking device. Before we could process it, the lights cut out. Every screen went black. Then a scream tore through the hallway, and in that instant, I knew this was far from over.