Emily tried to speak, but the effort twisted her face in pain. Alan stepped forward, adjusting the IV. “She needs rest, Richard.”
“No,” Emily rasped, her voice thin but urgent. “No more waiting.”
Her fingers clamped around my wrist with surprising strength. “Daniel… not safe.”
I tightened my grip on the bloodstained fabric. “Did he do this to you?”
Her eyes filled with fear, and for a second I thought she would say yes. Instead, she barely shook her head.
“Not… alone.”
Alan and I exchanged a glance.
“Emily,” I said carefully, “what does ‘Ask him about Denver’ mean?”
She froze.
That single word hit harder than the pain medication. Her breathing sped up. The heart monitor climbed.
Alan swore softly. “Richard, stop. You’re pushing her into tachycardia.”
But Emily was staring at me now, horrified—not because I had said it, but because I knew it.
“You saw it,” she whispered. “Oh God.”
