The Master Suite was a cavern of velvet shadows and the rhythmic, mocking sound of rain against the reinforced glass. I sat on the floor, my back against the cold mahogany of the bed frame, the silver locket heavy in my palm. The "Kill Switch" was in my pocket, a lethal weight, but it was the digital chip within the locket that felt like it carried the true power to end me.
I pulled my tablet from my medical bag, the blue light of the screen cutting through the darkness like a scalpel. My hands were steady—a surgeon's hands—but my heart was a frantic, trapped thing. I inserted the chip.
The screen flickered, a burst of static-filled white noise before the image resolved into a grainy, low-angle surveillance feed. The timestamp in the corner read: June 14, 2006. 02:14 AM. St. Jude Hospital. The Third Floor.
