Of course, the rapid depletion of the chemicals from my bloodstream was the least of my worries. They were only keeping me awake. My emotional self-flagellation was quickly starting to get the better of me, and no amount of caffeine could fix that. I knew that if it weren’t for the immediacy of the current crisis, Felicity and I probably would have already given ourselves over to the post-traumatic breakdowns we both had looming on our personal horizons. There was no doubt they were coming-the only questions that remained were how soon and which one of us was going to have the worst time of it. Something told me neither journey was going to be a cakewalk. But, one thing I knew for certain was that the level of severity for both of us was presently hinging on Constance’s survival.

We had faced down far too much already, and this was just a sadistic extension of the horror we had now been living for better than a month. It was as if we were waking up only to find our fleeting relief shattered by a fresh terror in an endless cycle.

I felt someone nudge me, then a voice drifted into my ears.

“Aye, Rowan,” Felicity said. “Your phone then.”

I snapped out of the introspection and gave my head a tired shake, tearing my vacant stare away from the oblivious janitor. Glancing at my hand I saw the aforementioned device resting there, flipped open with my fingers wrapped around it. The small speaker on the phone was vibrating with a barely audible voice saying something I couldn’t quite make out.

I immediately placed the cell against my ear and asked, “Ben?”

“Yeah, Row,” Detective Benjamin Storm replied, the two words coming out slow and deliberate.