—Can you explain why we found your ID card inside Wesley Carter’s cell this morning?

Brooke freezes.

—That’s impossible.

—And yet, there it was —Dorothy crosses her arms—. Along with a stolen vial of morphine from the infirmary.

Brooke shakes her head.

—I didn’t—

—You’re the only one with access —the warden interrupts—. And the only one who’s been around Carter more than necessary.

Brooke feels the floor drop out from under her.

—Someone is framing me.

The warden’s eyes are cold.

—That’s for the investigation to decide.

That night, Brooke doesn’t go home.

She can’t.

She knows that if she steps inside that apartment, she might not come out.

Instead, she parks her car on a distant street, locks the doors, reclines the seat. Her phone vibrates.

A message.

Unknown Number: "I told you, nurse. See you soon."

A thick, suffocating fear grips her throat.

Wesley Carter is behind this. He has to be.