Curiosity had transformed into mission.
She returned during shift changes, blending in as staff hurried past. The halls were dim, eerily quiet. She lingered by conversations, listening, piecing together fragments. She noticed everything now: how talk died the instant she appeared, how eyes flicked nervously in her direction.
One afternoon, she spotted Dr. Harris near the hospital’s rear entrance, speaking to a delivery driver. They exchanged a carton. The box itself was unremarkable—but the furtive glances, the tension in their posture, told another story.
Jennifer raised her phone and snapped a photo. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
She wanted more. She needed more.
Timing her movements with precision, she slipped into the restricted wing just after a shift change. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as she crept down the silent corridor. Soon she reached the unmarked door. Voices murmured inside.
“We need to move it tonight,” one voice insisted. “If the audit catches wind of this, it’s over.”