Outside, the hospital continued functioning as though nothing extraordinary had happened: phones rang, wheels rolled across tile; a woman asked where to find the pharmacy; someone laughed softly near the nurse's station; an overhead voice requested a respiratory therapist in another wing. The ordinary sounds made Maya feel strangely powerless: her son was safe enough to speak; the evidence had not vanished completely; yet, for the first time that night, she could no longer direct what happened next.
A hospital volunteer rolled a coffee cart past the doorway. Maya stopped him and bought a cup.
"Cream or sugar, ma'am?"
"Neither. Thank you."
The volunteer, an older man wearing a blue vest, handed it to her with a tired smile. "Long night?"
Maya looked at the cup. "Yes, sir."
He nodded as though that answered everything, and moved on.
The coffee was too hot at first. Ten minutes later, it was cold and untouched.
Isaiah appeared at the doorway with Evelyn beside him. He was still pale, but standing steadily enough to make Maya rise. "You should be in bed."
"I'm tired of the bed."
Evelyn said, "He's stable enough to walk a little. Not enough to argue with his mother."
Isaiah looked at Maya. "Can we go home when they discharge me?"
"If the doctor says you can."
"I mean... after that. Can we just leave all this alone?"
Maya studied him.
Isaiah continued, "Dana lost her badge. They're investigating Harland. I'm breathing again. Isn't that enough?"
"Maybe."
He frowned. "Maybe?"
"I'm thinking about it."
That answer surprised him. "You are?"
"Yes."
Isaiah looked toward the hallway. "I don't care what was on that drive. I don't care what Harland was hiding. I don't want you losing your job because of something I picked up by mistake."
Maya stepped closer. "This isn't your fault."
"I still carried it in here."
"You carried something you thought was yours."
"And now half the building is full of lawyers."
Maya could not deny that.
Isaiah lowered his voice. "I just want to go back to school."
She nodded. "I know."