Cole stood in the hospital corridor longer than he meant to.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, too bright, too clean for the kind of rot he felt crawling under his skin. Everything smelled like antiseptic and something metallic underneath it, and for a moment he thought—absurdly—that this place felt exactly like his childhood home had in its final years: quiet, polished on the surface, and decaying in places no one wanted to look at.

“She’s been admitted under psychiatric care,” the nurse said again, more gently this time, as if repeating it would soften the truth. “She had another breakdown earlier this morning.”

Another.

Cole clenched his jaw. His fingers...