I will never breathe again if something has happened to Adam.

All I can do is hope Casper's phone call got them here in time. That we weren't too slow. That the thirty seconds it took me to figure out Adam's message wasn't twenty seconds too long.

I stumble out of the van to where a police cruiser is parked; an officer is calling in on his radio. He stops to look at me, eyebrows raised.

"Where did they take him?" My voice comes out surprisingly steady. Funny, considering I'm about to tremble to pieces. When the officer doesn't respond immediately I say, more urgently, "Where did they take Adam? I'm his friend. We called in that something was wrong."

The cop pulls off his hat, scratches a hand through his short hair, a thoughtful look on his face. "They're taking him to Mercy Ridge, off of Ninth and L."

Ninth and L. I don't know where the hell that is in this neighborhood, but I jump back into the car without so much as a thank you, and Google the hospital so my GPS can read me the directions.

I get there in one piece. Without getting lost. I go in through the ER entrance because I have no idea where else to go. The last time I stepped foot inside a hospital, they told me Maggie was dead. Now are they going to tell me Adam is dead? That it's pointless for someone like me to get attached to anything because we are all broken and Adam is gone and soon Casper will be, too?

The sleepy-looking nurse behind the receptionist's desk is less than impressed when I budge in front of a mother and her squalling infant to ask, "Where do I go if I want to see a patient?" Despite her sullen glare, she points me in the direction of a set of double doors where I find another desk, with another receptionist, who only looks at me when I tell him I'm searching for the boy who was just brought in—Adam Rockswell.

He looks over the tops of his glasses. "Are you family?"

"Yes." The lie comes easily. I knew they would ask me. If I were to tell the truth, they wouldn't let me in, and they sure as hell wouldn't keep me updated on his condition. Also a good thing this guy obviously hasn't seen Adam, because he'd know there's no way we're related. Me with my olive-skin tone and brown curls. Adam with his pale complexion, big gold eyes, and fine, straight dark hair. A blind man couldn't mistake us for brothers.

The guy picks up his phone to make a call and asks for a status on Rockswell. When he hangs up, his tone is a little more kind. "Sorry, but the doctors are working on him."

I brace my hands against the counter, certain my legs are going to give out. "What did he...will he be..."

"Sorry, son. It's too early to tell." He shrugs, but it isn't unkind, more with the tired sympathy of someone who sees this sort of thing day in and day out. "Might want to bunker down for a bit. I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything."