At 2:13 a.m., the nursery camera captured her slipping Leo's medicine into her pocket.

The maintenance catwalk was terrifying. Suspended four stories above the unforgiving concrete courtyard, the rusted iron grating groaned and buckled under my weight with every step. The wind whipped violently, threatening to tear me from the side of the building.

I pressed my back against the freezing brick wall, inching my way toward the shattered window of the hydrotherapy room. Through the broken glass, I could see the mercenary, completely focused on suppressing the SWAT team in the hallway.

I didn't hesitate. I drew my weapon, leveled it through the broken window, and fired two rapid shots. The mercenary dropped his rifle and collapsed to the tiled floor, completely incapacitated.

"Clear!" I shouted, climbing through the window and kicking the rifle away from the man.

Grant and the SWAT team immediately breached the room from the hallway. We moved quickly to the adjacent observation room. I kicked the door open, my flashlight cutting through the darkness.

Charles was tied to a heavy steel chair in the center of the room. He looked terrible—beaten, starved, and exhausted. But when the beam of my flashlight hit his face, a weak, defiant smile crossed his bruised lips.

"I told them you were too stubborn to die in Switzerland," Charles rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

I rushed forward, using my combat knife to slice through the heavy zip-ties binding his wrists and ankles. "We're getting you out of here, old man. You're going to be okay."

As I helped Charles to his feet, a harsh, electronic beep echoed from the corner of the room.

Grant rushed to the source, shining his light on a heavy metal lockbox attached to the main structural support column. Inside the box was a brick of C4 explosive, wired to a digital timer. The red numbers were counting down rapidly.

00:45.

"It's a trap," Grant yelled, his eyes wide with absolute panic. "Arthur rigged the building to blow if the perimeter was breached! Everyone fall back! Move!"

I threw Charles's arm over my shoulder, practically carrying the old man as we sprinted out of the room and down the long hallway. The SWAT team led the desperate charge toward the stairs, their heavy boots thundering on the tiles.

We threw ourselves down the concrete stairwell, taking the steps three at a time. The countdown echoed in my mind, a terrifying metronome counting down to our deaths.

We burst through the front doors of the asylum, sprinting across the dead grass of the courtyard.

00:03... 00:02... 00:01.