Silas swallowed hard, his eyes glued to my medical bag as if a demon were about to crawl out of it. "Chloe... Doctor... please. I told the police everything I know. I don't know who they are! It was all through encrypted channels. I never saw a face!"
I didn't answer him. Silence, I've learned, is a surgeon's best tool before the first incision. I slowly unzipped the bag. The metallic shhh of the zipper sounded like a blade being sharpened in the tiny, sterile room. I pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them onto my hands. Snap. The sound echoed like a gunshot against the cinderblock walls.
"Your heart rate is roughly 110 beats per minute, Silas," I said, my voice as calm as if I were back in the OR, narrating a routine procedure. "Your pupils are dilated. Your sweat has a specific acrid scent—the smell of cortisol flooding your system. Do you know what happens to the human body when it stays in a state of absolute terror for too long?"
"I—I don't—"
