The blacked-out SUV tore through the neon-lit streets of Manhattan.
In the backseat, Aria was aggressively tapping the screen of her phone, dialing Dr. Elias Thorne's number for the tenth time in ten minutes. She pressed the phone to her ear, chewing ruthlessly on her thumbnail.
Ring... ring... ring...
"Pick up your phone, Elias!" Aria hissed into the quiet cabin.
"You have reached the voicemail of—"
Aria hung up with a furious growl, tossing the phone onto the plush leather seat beside her.
She needed him. Only Elias and a very select few, highly paid, NDA-bound nurses knew that the body currently occupying ICU Room 1 was a hyper-realistic silicone doll. Aria needed Elias to help her sneak back up to her room, swap places with the doll, and launch her dramatic, tearful livestream from her "deathbed."
But Elias was entirely MIA.
