But just as she reached to stop the recording, a whisper slipped through the static—barely audible but unmistakable.
“Don’t say it aloud.”
Jennifer’s finger froze. Her chest tightened, breath shallow.
Another voice followed, sharper, urgent, tinged with fear. “What if we get caught? I’m not losing my license over this.”
Her breath hitched violently.
What were they talking about? Who were they? Was it about her?
Heart pounding, she rewound the file. Hands trembling, she played it again. The voices were there—clearer the second time. A warning. A fear of exposure.
Her stomach dropped. The knot of anxiety returned, tighter than ever. What had they done? What had she stumbled upon?
For the rest of her hospital stay, Jennifer was shackled to the recording. Every doctor, every nurse became a suspect. She studied their faces, noted every hushed conversation, every glance that seemed too carefully timed.
Dr. Harris’s warm smile and gentle tone no longer soothed her. If anything, they made her skin prickle with unease. Was his the voice whispering in panic on her recording?