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I should pick up my pace. Whatever brought them to Springview is none of my business, and God knows I’ve got enough on my plate without sticking my nose into someone else’s problems.

Still, there’s something about the man that bothers me. I just can’t put my finger on it.

As he rounds the front of the car and reaches for the driver’s door, his gaze meets mine. Something changes in his demeanor. It’s subtle, barely more than a flicker, but I’ve spent enough years studying people to recognize when someone is assessing a potential threat.

And this man is definitely assessing me.

Well, hello there.

I don’t know who Elias is, or what he’s doing at Springview, but the look in his eyes sets every last one of my alarm bells ringing.

This man has blood on his hands.

Of course, I don’t have a shred of evidence to back that up. It’s just a gut feeling. But my gut has rarely steered me wrong.

I hold his stare for another second before he climbs behind the wheel, apparently deciding I’m not worth his attention.

Elias. Blackwater Falls.

I commit both to memory, making a mental note to look them up later. If there’s something there, I’ll find it.

For now, though, whatever secrets Elias is hiding can wait. I have more important things to worry about. Namely, the woman who’s been locked inside this hospital.

By the time I climb the steps leading to Springview’s main entrance, Dr. Fredrickson is already waiting for me in the lobby.

“Agent Hartley.” He smiles, extending his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Doctor.” I shake his hand. “Thanks for making time for me.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome here.” He gestures toward the security desk. “Shall we?”

After signing in and surrendering my phone, I follow him through a set of secured doors and down a long corridor toward the residential wing. The place smells faintly of disinfectant and freshly brewed coffee. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear a television playing.

“So,” I begin, falling into step beside him. “How’s our girl doing?”

“She’s adjusting nicely. We’ve seen some encouraging progress over the past few months.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. She’s been much more receptive to treatment. She’s consistently attending her individual therapy sessions, participating in group activities, and showing a greater willingness to engage with other patients. Her sleep has improved as well, which has made a considerable difference to her overall well-being.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“It is. She’s also been writing again.”

I do a double take. “Writing?”

He nods. “Nothing quite as ambitious as a novel, from what I understand. Mostly journaling, some short stories. We encourage patients to find healthy ways of expressing themselves, and writing seems to be particularly beneficial for Maxine.”

A small smile tugs at my lips.

Of course it does. You can take everything away from Max Morgan, but she’ll always find a way to put words on a page.

“That’s good news, Doctor. Really good news.”

“We think so too.” He smiles as we pass another nurses’ station and approach the common area.

The common room is quieter than I expected. A television drones in the corner while a handful of patients drift between card games, puzzles, and cups of tea. Nothing about the scene feels threatening. If anything, it reminds me of a retirement home more than a psychiatric hospital.