Page 96 of Borrowed Pain
"Rowan. We have a problem."
The warehouse hummed around me—servers cycling, Charlie's claws scratching, and the distant whisper of Seattle traffic. I rolled over in Matthew's guest bed, squinting at numbers that refused to focus: 3:39 PM.
"Miles missed another check-in," Dorian said from the doorway. "We got one at 2:30, but that was an hour ago. The GPS tracker is stationary at Harborview."
I lurched upright, bare feet hitting the cold floor. "Show me."
Dorian's workstation blazed with surveillance feeds and tracking data. Miles's location pulsed like a heartbeat on the hospital schematic—Room 314, Clinical Research Wing. Static. Unmoving.
"Any visual confirmation of exit?"
"Negative. I've got feeds from three angles on the main entrances. He went in. He didn't come out." Dorian's fingersdanced across multiple keyboards. "Emergency protocols activated forty minutes ago with the first missed check-in."
"Have you called—"
"Marcus should be here in ten minutes. Michael and Alex are driving back from Oregon." Dorian pulled up another screen showing highway traffic cameras. "ETA ninety minutes, but Michael's pushing it hard."
Charlie appeared at my elbow, pressing his warm bulk against my leg. Dogs knew when their pack was incomplete.
Dorian looked at me. "What's your assessment?"
"Worst case scenario. Miles walked into the same trap that killed Iris."
The warehouse door chimed. Marcus strode into the room. "Status report." He settled at the table, pen ready. "What do we know and what are we assuming?"
"Miles entered Harborview at 1:58 PM for a consultation with Dr. Celeste Harrow," I said. "Missed his 3:00 and 3:30 PM check-ins. GPS shows he's still in the building, Room 314, Clinical Research Wing."
Marcus scribbled notes in his precise handwriting. "Nature of consultation?"
"Therapeutic research. Something about new trauma treatment protocols." I watched Marcus's expression sharpen. "He said it didn't break our agreement like my meeting with Patricia did. It was about his work. I should have asked more questions."
"Self-recrimination is tactically useless," Marcus said with clinical efficiency. "Current priorities: establish contact, verify well-being, coordinate extraction if necessary. Dorian, what are our communication options?"
"I've tried calling his phone every ten minutes. Goes straight to voicemail. Could be turned off, in a dead zone, or confiscated."Dorian pulled up cellular tower data. "Last ping was 2:34 PM, same location."
Miles had been radio silent for over an hour. In my experience, an hour was long enough for interrogation, coercion, or worse.
Marcus picked up his phone. "I'm calling the hospital directly."
Marcus's institutional credibility opened doors that my podcaster status couldn't touch. As I listened to him navigate phone trees and departmental transfers, dread pooled in my stomach.
"Yes, I'm inquiring about a Dr. Miles McCabe, a family member there for a consultation... Dr. Celeste Harrow... Yes, I'll hold."
"They're checking," Marcus said, covering the phone.
He spoke over the phone again. "Clinical research participation?"
Marcus held his hand over the phone and whispered to me, "They say he's participating in research protected under Institutional Review Board protocols. Family access may be restricted."
"Restricted how?" I stepped closer to the phone.
"Standard clinical research protections. Participant confidentiality, study integrity, and federal oversight requirements."
He listened again. "When is completion expected?" Marcus met my eyes while he spoke. "Transfer me, please."
Another pause. "Dr. Lemon, this is Marcus McCabe with Seattle Fire Department. I'm inquiring about visiting rights for a family member participating in Dr. Celeste Harrow's trauma research study."
He whispered, "Later, we're going to talk about another instance of going rogue."
