“Nothing at all,” I shrugged. “It’s just interesting.”

Now he looked visibly irritated, because he wasn’t controlling the conversation anymore. Right then, my phone buzzed inside my lab coat pocket—a text message. I glanced down, and the sender’s name immediately caught my attention. It was Kenneth Boyd, and I hadn’t expected to hear from him that morning.

The message contained only six words: I’m downstairs. We need to talk.

My pulse quickened, because Kenneth wasn’t the kind of man who sent urgent text messages without an incredibly serious reason. I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Connor was still staring at me, trying desperately to figure out why I wasn’t upset. For the first time all morning, I almost felt sorry for him, but the feeling passed quickly.