The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 387

"Dr. Foster—something's wrong!" Her voice cracked, on the verge of tears. "Ms. Taylor is gone!"

Garrison's grip tightened, the rim of his glass slamming against the edge of the coffee table with a sharp crack.

Cold tea sloshed over the side, splashing onto his fingers.

"What?" He spun around, his expression turning deadly serious. "What exactly happened?"

Terrified by his dark glare, the young nurse stammered through her explanation, piecing the events together between terrified breaths:

Sloane had come to the nurses' station claiming her wristband had gotten wet and was about to break, asking for a replacement.

She cut the old band off and was about to put the new one on, but Sloane said she needed to use the restroom first. The nurse thought nothing of it and let her go. After waiting for ages, she went to check the restroom, only to find it completely empty. She then ran to Sloane's room—the bed was perfectly made, but her suitcase and her cello were both gone.

"Dr. Foster, I'm so sorry—I had no idea she was going to run away—she seemed completely normal, she even smiled at me—"

"What exactly did she say to you?" Garrison cut her off.

"She said... she said the band was breaking and she didn't want to trigger the alarm."

The nurse held up the new wristband as if it were her only defense. "This is it—I never even got to put it on her."

Garrison snatched the wristband from her hand, crushing it in his fist.

The security guard, Old Zhao, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, yawning as he dragged the progress bar back. The timestamp on the black-and-white feed read 2:58 AM, showing the ground-floor lobby.

A slender figure with a cello strapped to her back and a suitcase in hand stepped out of the elevator. Her pace was steady; she didn't even rush when passing the front desk.

The automatic doors slid open, and she stepped into the downpour. The rain rendered as harsh white streaks slicing across the lens.

She stood in the storm for a few seconds, looking up at the sky, before walking to the curb and flagging down a cab. She threw the cello in the backseat before climbing in, the taillights flashing twice in the rain before disappearing from view.

Garrison watched the cab vanish off the edge of the screen, his fingers digging into the console, his knuckles bone white.

"Access the street cameras." The words tore themselves from his throat. "Track that car!"