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“... Shane?” J.J. asked, reaching to touch his shoulder. “What— who was that? What’s happening?”
“Ottawa Hospital I— I’m Ily— I’m Rozanov’s emergency contact.” He blinked. He knew he had to get moving, that he needed to haul ass and get to Ottawa yesterday, but for some reason Shane couldn’t bring himself to move. It felt like he was glued to the floor, fear had his limbs locked up, and everything he should be doing wasn’t coming to him. It was only when J.J. placed his other hand on his shoulder that Shane jerked back to the present.