Chapter 7: The Supply Closet Discovery
The air inside the janitorial closet smelled stale, thick with the sharp tang of industrial bleach and damp cotton. Through the narrow slats of the louvered door, the harsh fluorescent lights of the pediatric corridor cast pale stripes across the concrete floor. My shoulder throbbed where I had pressed it against the wooden wall, the white bandages on my wrists chafing against the rough handle of a plastic mop bucket. Outside, the steady, rhythmic footfalls of the private guards echoed against the linoleum, a metronomic reminder of how precarious my position truly was. I crouched between a stack of folded gray linens and a row of yellow chemical containers, trying to quiet the ragged sound of my own breathing while my mind raced through every possible exit route.
The silence of the corridor was shattered moments later by the rapid, heavy clicking of expensive leather shoes striking the floor. Julian Vance's voice cut through the air, sharp and strained with an exhaustion that he tried to mask with sheer authority. "I don't care what the board says about liability," he was telling someone on the phone, his silhouette briefly blotting out the light through the door slats as he stopped just outside. "Find another donor matching that exact antigen profile, or clear the entire floor. I want every specialist in New York on this by noon." A murmur of assent came from the receiver before the line clicked dead, leaving only the sound of his heavy breathing just inches away from my hiding place.
I shifted my weight slightly to relieve a cramp in my calf, pressing my hand against the shelving unit to steady myself. In the cramped darkness, my boot heel unfortunately caught the edge of a stainless steel cleaning tray resting on the lower wire shelf. The metal clattered against a plastic bucket with a sharp, echoing ring that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hall. Outside, the footfalls stopped instantly. "Who's in there?" a guard's voice barked, followed by the heavy thud of boots pivoting toward the closet door. Before I could lunge back or find another exit, the wooden latch rattled violently, and the door was yanked wide open, flooding the dark interior with blinding white light that forced me to squint against the sudden glare.
