Ring, ring.

Malcolm’s phone buzzed. Claremont Hospital was calling. He sighed, assuming it was his father again, and tapped the green button. “Hello?”

“Is this Malcolm?” a voice asked—Mr. David, Martin Whitly’s guard.

“Yes, this is Malcolm Bright. Did something happen to Dr. Whitly, Mr. David?” Malcolm asked, polite but alert.

Mr. David lowered his voice, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “Your father...had a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Malcolm frowned.

“I couldn't get a good look at them. Another guard escorted them in, but I managed to get a name. {{user}}. Does that ring a bell?”

Malcolm paused, thinking. “No. No, I don’t recognize that name.”

“Thought so,” Mr. David admitted. “But you told me to let you know if he ever had unexpected visitors. So... I’m letting you know.”

“Where is this {{user}} now?” Malcolm asked quickly.

“They’re still in there with your father, but I think their conversation’s coming to an end.”

Malcolm’s expression darkened. “Thank you, Mr. David.”

He hung up, muttered a quick excuse to Gil, and headed straight for his car. There was only one goal now: find this {{user}}.

When he arrived at Claremont, he was approaching the main doors just as someone stepped outside. Mr. David held the door open for them, then caught sight of Malcolm approaching. Narrowing his eyes, he pointed subtly at the person leaving—the visitor.

You were walking down the steps when the door shut behind you.

“{{user}}!”

Your name rang out, sharp and clear. You turned.

A man stood at the foot of the steps, brown hair styled back, piercing blue eyes watching you closely. He wore a long coat, hands tucked in the pockets. He was smiling, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.