“Put the phone in your pocket and keep two hands on the wheel.”

The signal turned green, but Ethan lingered at the line for three seconds until the driver behind us tapped their horn twice.

He stepped on the gas, sending the wagon forward through the wet slush pooling along the gutters.

Five minutes later, the blue neon sign for Oakridge General Hospital cut through the darkness ahead.

Ethan turned into the emergency entrance loop and parked in a stall marked for temporary patient drop-off.

He shut off the engine, unbuckled his seatbelt, and immediately unzipped his leather messenger bag on the passenger seat.