ISLA~
The hospital parking lot was almost empty by the time I pulled in. The dashboard clock glowed 11:17 p.m., its pale blue light washing over my hands as I killed the engine.
Brian's car sat three rows ahead of me, headlights off, swallowed by the fog rolling off the bay. He was already waiting.
I stepped out, the cool night air hitting my face as I crossed the wet asphalt. Every instinct I had told me something was wrong. Brian didn't call meetings this late unless the situation had gotten worse—or unless the floor was actively slipping beneath our feet.
This case with every passing day just kept getting bigger than what I expected.
He leaned against the driver's door with his arms folded, his dark coat damp from the light spray of rain hanging in the air.
"They're not letting anyone near him," he said before I could even ask.
I frowned, stopping a few feet away. "Chris?"
