The air in Room 412 felt suddenly thin, sucked out of the space by the sheer impossibility of what had just happened. His fingers—long, calloused, and freezing cold—were locked around my wrist with a terrifying strength. For a man who hadn't moved a muscle in three months, his grip felt like a vise forged from steel and adrenaline.

The digital clock on the wall glowed 3:42 AM.

My hands trembled as I punched the combination into the digital wall safe hidden behind the heavy mahogany painting in Nicholas’s private suite. Nicholas had whispered the code to me three times—his mother’s birthday, combined with the street number of his first warehouse.

Click.

The heavy steel door swung open. Inside sat a stack of encrypted burner phones, a thick envelope stuffed with hundred-dollar bills, and a heavy, matte-black Walther PPK pistol. My breath hitched. I pushed the gun aside, grabbed the burner phone at the bottom of the stack, and slammed the safe shut.

When I turned around, Nicholas was standing by the window, gripping the velvet curtain for support. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but his posture was rigid, unbreakable.

"Did you get it?" he asked, his voice a low whisper.

I held up the black device. "Got it. Who am I calling?"

"Dial seven-four-zero-nine," Nicholas instructed, his eyes fixed on the door. "Ask for a man named Dante. Tell him: The winter wolf has broken his chain. He'll know what it means."

I quickly punched the numbers into the encrypted phone and pressed it to my ear. It rang twice before a gruff, deeply suspicious voice answered.

"Speak."

"The winter wolf has broken his chain," I blurted out, my voice cracking slightly.

A sharp intake of breath echoed through the receiver on the other end. "Where is he?"

"St. Jude's. Room 412," I answered quickly. "Miller and his men have compromised the floor. He needs—"

Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the suite clicked.

My blood ran cold.

"Clara! What's happening?" Dante's voice barked through the phone.

"They're coming!" I whispered frantically, ending the call with a fumbling thumb just as the doorknob began to turn.

"Nicholas, get back in bed!" I hissed, diving toward the medical cart.

Nicholas didn't move. Instead, with terrifying calm, he reached out, caught the heavy metal IV pole from its stand, and braced himself beside the door frame just as the latch gave way.