The air in the hospital basement didn’t smell like death. It smelled like industrial lemon cleaner and stale coffee. It smelled like a lie. Everlee Payne stood in front of the double swing doors. Her hands were shaking. Not a subtle tremble, but a violent vibration that rattled the zipper of her rain jacket against the metal teeth. "Mrs. Payne?" The voice was soft. Too soft. The kind of voice people used when they were about to destroy your world. Everlee didn't look at the doctor. She looked at the floor. Linoleum tiles. Speckled grey. One, two, three, four. If she counted them, maybe the doors wouldn't open. If she didn't look up, maybe the last two hours would rewind. Maybe the phone call from the school was a wrong number. Maybe the sirens were for someone else. "Mrs. Payne, we need you to identify her." Dr. Schumacher. That was the name on the badge. A woman with severe glasses and a face that looked like it had been carved out of granite, then softened by years of delivering bad news. "I don't want to," Everlee whispered. "I know." Schumacher’s hand touched her elbow. It was warm. Everlee flinched. "But the police need confirmation before they can release the… before we can proceed." Everlee nodded. The movement felt mechanical. A puppet on strings. She pushed the door open. The room was colder than the hallway. Stainless steel tables. A hum of ventilation that sounded