Just as my voice cracked, the lounge door slammed open. A tall security guard in a navy shirt and badge stormed in, eyes fixed on Brian.
“Mr. Collins, you are under a restraining order for assaulting a nurse earlier today,” he announced, voice echoing off the tiled walls. “You must leave the premises immediately.”
Brian’s face went ashen, his mouth opening, then closing, as if the words were caught in his throat. I stared at him, my demand hanging in the air, the guard’s stern warning cutting through the chaos like a blade.
Maya's Urgent Plan
“Take him now,” Maya whispered, her eyes flicking to the hallway where nurses scrambled.
“If the clinic finds out we’re keeping him, they’ll send a retrieval team,” she said, voice barely above a hiss.
I clutched my son’s tiny wrist, feeling his pulse thrum against my palm.
“What do we do?” I asked, breath shallow.
“Hide him in the delivery cart,” Maya replied, gesturing to the stainless‑steel trolley still warm from recent births.
We slipped the infant into the cart, covering his blanket with a sterile sheet.
The ward erupted into a frenzy; staff shouted, “Secure the ICU!” and “All patients to isolation!”
As I pushed the cart past the revolving doors, a flash of paper caught my eye under Maya’s desk.
I knelt, fingers trembling, and slipped the thin folder into my coat.
The file was labeled “CONFIDENTIAL – BLACKMAIL” and inside were printed emails, photos of Brian with a clinic representative, and a contract promising a “perfect child” for a six‑figure payment.
My stomach turned. The evidence was damning, a web of threats and promises that bound Brian to the clinic.
“We have to get this out,” Maya breathed, noticing my hand.
I nodded, heart pounding, the file clenched like a lifeline.
Lockdown and the Masked Threat
Maya slipped the file into my bag while I cradled the cart, then slipped a phone out from her pocket.
“I’m calling Leah, my journalist friend. She’ll break this,” she whispered, dialing fast.
Before the line could connect, the lights sputtered and went dark.
Alarms blared, a shrill siren echoing through the sterile corridors—an emergency code flashing red on every panel.
Doors slammed shut; a metallic clang resonated as the storage room door locked behind us.
“Stay calm,” Maya said, but her voice trembled.
Footsteps thundered outside; the door burst open and a figure stepped in, mask gleaming under the emergency lights.
“Give me the baby,” the voice hissed, low and cold.
My grip tightened on the infant, his soft whimper muffled by my hand.
“Who are you?” I demanded, eyes darting for an exit.
The masked man stepped closer, a glint of steel around his wrist.
“You don’t understand,” he snarled, “or you’ll die with him.”
He lunged, forcing the cart from my arms.
In the sudden, suffocating darkness, the figure’s mask slipped just enough for a glimpse of a familiar scar across his cheek.
My breath hitched as the truth crashed through me.
“Brian’s brother,” he rasped, “and the baby you hold isn’t yours. It’s a clone, a surrogate for a client. Hand it over, or we all die.”
Unmasking the Truth
“Who are you?” I demanded, voice shaking as the masked man stepped into the flickering hallway.
