I held onto Caleb’s small hand, feeling the slight tremor of his fingers as a lifeline. Despite the fog still clouding my mind, a new resolve began to form. This wasn’t just about surviving now; it was about escaping.
We stayed there, pretending to be unconscious, the seconds stretching into what felt like hours. The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock, each tick a reminder that we had a narrow window to act. I tried to think through the haze, recalling everything Ethan had said on the phone.
Accidental poisoning. That’s what he’d called it. A plan that seemed meticulously thought out, leaving no room for suspicion. But the urgency in his voice, the tremor of excitement as he spoke to the woman—whoever she was—betrayed a deeper haste, a slip in the calculated mask Ethan had worn for so long.
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