Chapter 8 · Midnight Wire

Thirty seconds.

The hospice monitor sat propped against the bedpost. Under my mother’s sleeping face, the numbers went from green to sickly yellow.

LIFE SUPPORT OFFLINE IN 30 SECONDS.

Then 29.

"Pick it up," Garrett said.

He was dripping wet. Water rolled down the hard line of his jaw, hitting the pine planks right between my bare feet. A dark towel hung low on one hip. That was it. Steam rose off his shoulders like he’d been boiled alive and didn't give a damn, catching the dent under his collarbone where something violent had been dug out years ago.

I dialed the night desk with shaking fingers.

"Shore, room eleven," I blurted. "My feed says power cut. It's a glitch, right? Tell me it's a glitch."

"Not a glitch, hon." The nurse sounded bone-tired, like I was caller forty-five. "Automated billing flag. Hits at midnight, drops the room to minimum draw."

"Minimum draw? She's on a ventilator!"

"I know, ma'am. But if your balance isn't—"

"There's a countdown! I'm watching it die right now!"

Sixteen. Fifteen.

"I can't override corporate flags, ma'am—"

Garrett snatched the phone.

No warning. His wet fingers brushed mine, blistering hot against my ice-cold skin.