The clinic's security footage arrived at three seventeen a.m., a silent notification that lit Ethan's phone screen like a gunshot in the dark.
He sat bolt upright in bed, heart already racing before his brain caught up, the blue glow painting Alex's sleeping face in cold strokes. Ethan slipped from the sheets, bare feet silent on the hardwood, and carried the phone to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The email subject line was blank, the sender a string of random numbers that screamed burner account. He opened it anyway, because ignorance had stopped feeling like safety weeks ago.
The video started grainy, timestamped two nights earlier, the exact hour they'd collapsed into bed after the conference high.
