Page 28 of Fang

“Seriously?” I arch a brow.“That’s exactly the kind of people who live in Louisiana bayous. We’re outsiders. Everyone living within ten miles of here will know about the ambulance before we leave the parking lot. You should have parked it somewhere else.”

“Can’t do much about that now. Let’s get back to the plan. Any security cameras?” Scalpel asks, his focus entirely on the technical aspects of the operation.

“I’ll take care of those,” Fang answers. “They’ll be on a twenty-minute loop of yesterday’s footage. Should give us enough time to get in and out.”

I lean closer, studying the map. “We should split up once we’re inside. I’ll head directly to Rory’s room while you create a diversion on the second floor. Something to draw security away from the third.”

Fang nods. “I’ve got some ideas for that. Nothing dangerous, but enough to keep them busy.”

“Once you have your brother,” Scalpel continues, “bring him down through this service elevator.” He traces the route with a precise finger. “It bypasses the main corridors where you’d be more likely to encounter staff. I’ll be waiting, engine running.”

“We meet back at the ambulance twenty minutes after entry,” Fang concludes. “Any longer than that, and we risk being discovered.”

The plan is clean and efficient, but when real-world variables intervene, even the best plans can fail.

“What if Rory isn’t in his room or I’m wrong about which floor he’s on?” I ask, voicing my deepest fear.

“Then text me on the burner. We’ll abort and regroup,” Fang answers immediately. “No heroics, no improvising. We get out, reassess, and try again later.”

Scalpel gathers the map, folding it with precision. “It’s time. The shift change starts in forty minutes. We need to be in position before then.”

Fang and I exit the ambulance and hop on his bike. As we pull away from the diner and onto the main road, I close my eyes briefly, allowing myself one moment of vulnerability no one can see. Then I open them, focusing on the road ahead and on my brother. After today, he’ll be free.

Mercy Memorial Hospital looms before us, a concrete monolith with windows like tired eyes gazing out over a cracked parking lot. After parking near the edge of the lot, Fang and I hurry across it. We enter through the service entrance as planned.

The antiseptic smell hits me immediately—that particular blend that all hospitals share, regardless of their budget or location. I check my watch. The clock is ticking.

“Remember,” Fang murmurs, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of machinery, “twenty minutes. Any longer and the camera loop becomes a liability.”

I nod. “Create your diversion in five minutes. That should give me enough time to reach him and get him into a wheelchair.”

Fang’s expression is unreadable behind his glasses, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that betrays his concern. “If anything feels wrong—”

“I know. Abort and regroup.” My hand flexes at my side. I quell the impulse to reach for him. A hug would be amazing right now, but we’re not in a relationship. It would be weird if I tried to touch him. Still, I want to.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips, as if he can read my body language. “Good luck.”

We separate inside the stairwell. Fang heads out into the second floor while I climb to the third. I exit into a dimly lit corridor. My shoes make no sound against the linoleum floor. Working with the cartel taught me a few things, including how to move like a ghost and leave no trace.

The hallways are a mess of hospital staff swapping stations. Shift change means chaos, exactly as we planned.

I scan each face I pass, comparing them against my mental database of known cartel associates. So far, no matches.

Something feels off. The atmosphere’s too casual. Security’s too lax. The cartel is many things, but careless isn’t one of them. They should have this place locked down tighter, especially given Rory’s value as leverage.

A cold knot forms in my stomach, a warning signal I’ve learned never to ignore. Something’s wrong.

I’m about to head for the nearest stairwell when a hand clamps around my upper arm, yanking me sideways. My bodyreacts before my mind can process what’s happened. But then recognition hits, stopping me mid-motion.

The woman who’s pulled me into an empty patient room is familiar. Her dark hair’s pulled into a severe bun and her eyes are lined with exhaustion. She’s wearing scrubs that hang from her thin frame like clothes on a wire hanger. Nurse Chen. Rory’s primary nurse for the past three years.

She closes the door behind us with trembling hands, then turns to face me. “What are you doing here?” she whispers.

“Where’s my brother?” I counter, not bothering with pretense.

Fear flashes across her face, quickly suppressed, but unmistakable. “You shouldn’t be here, Mina. It’s not safe.”

“Where is Rory?” I repeat, each word precise and hard-edged.

---