The scent of wet asphalt and menthol cigarettes cut through the sterile hospital grade air of the eastern suite like a rusted knife. Victor Rivas stood over the bed, his boots leaving damp prints on the imported Italian marble that Chloe Harrington would no doubt complain about to the housekeeping staff tomorrow morning.

"What was that?" Victor muttered, his head snapping toward the dark corner where the medical supply cart sat half-hidden by a privacy screen.

Chloe’s breath hitched. "Nobody is supposed to be here. The cleaning staff finished at nine."

"Hey!" Victor barked, stepping away from the bed. "Who’s there? Step out where I can see you, or I swear to God I’ll put a round through that screen and see what bleeds behind it."

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the mechanical breath of the ventilator forcing air into Nicholas’s motionless lungs.

Then, a small, trembling voice cut through the dark.

"I... I dropped the disinfectant spray, sir. I’m sorry. I’m just cleaning the baseboards."

Sue Miller stepped out from behind the privacy screen. Her shoulders were hunched, her head bowed in the posture of utter subservience that had kept her invisible to the Vescari household for four months. She held a plastic spray bottle in one hand and a damp microfiber cloth in the other, her knuckles pale against the blue plastic.

Victor stared at her, narrowing his eyes. He lowered the gun slightly, though he didn't reholster it. "What's your name, girl?"

"Sue, sir. Sue Miller. I’m night sanitation."

"Night sanitation doesn't clean the master suite at midnight, sweetheart," Victor sneered, closing the distance between them with predatory slowness. He reached out, grabbing a lock of Sue’s dark hair and yanking her head back. Sue let out a sharp gasp of pain, but she didn't fight back. "You pick a terrible time to do your chores. Did you hear something?"

"No! Nothing, I swear!" Sue cried, tears welling in her eyes with terrifying realism. "I just came in to check the wastebins! Please, mister, I don't want any trouble. I need this job!"

Chloe walked over, her expression ice-cold as she inspected the maid from head to toe. "She’s just one of the agency girls. Stupid, cheap, and easily replaced. But she was standing right there. How long have you been behind that screen?"

"I just came in! Five seconds ago! I swear to God!" Sue sobbed, her knees buckling slightly under Victor’s grip.

Victor looked down at her, weighing the risk in his mind. The barrel of his gun drifted down from the ceiling, pointing toward Sue’s chest. "Can’t have witnesses, Chloe. You know that. Business is business."

Nicholas’s soul screamed inside his locked cage. For fourteen days, he had been a spectator to betrayal, but watching a frightened, innocent girl pay the price for his war was a line he refused to let them cross. His brain fired emergency signals down his spine, screaming at his muscles to move, to break the chemical chains, to rise from the dead.

Nothing happened. His body remained lead.

"Wait," Chloe said, stepping forward and placing a gloved hand on Victor’s forearm. "Don't make a mess in the master suite. Blood on the marble is impossible to scrub out. Besides... if we kill a maid, the police will launch a real investigation. If she stays quiet, she's a useful asset. We can pin the break-in and the murder on an outside intruder."

Victor grunted, considering it. He shoved Sue hard to the floor, sending her sprawling against the base of the medical cart. Bottles rattled violently.

"Listen to me, cleaning lady," Victor hissed, crouching down until his face was inches from hers. "You didn't see the man in the bed. You didn't see us. If you say a single word to the cops, or the estate manager, or anyone else on this godforsaken island, I won't just find you. I’ll find your mother in that nursing home on the South Side and show her what real pain looks like."

Sue squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling over her lashes. "I won't say anything. I swear on my life. Please just let me go."

"Get out," Victor spat.