She nodded.

They wrote their notes in the quiet of three thirty and she felt the ward around them — the specific hush of it, the monitors and the low light and the corridor empty in both directions — and felt the twenty minutes of quiet she liked arriving early tonight.

"Reid," she said.

"Mm."

"The son in the relatives' room," she said. "Bay seven. He's been here since midnight. Can you—"

"I'll go," he said. He put his pen down and stood up and she watched him go — the easy unhurried walk, the way he knocked on the relatives' room door before he opened it, two knocks, always...