Her voice doesn't sound like hers, the words running together, hazy and distant beneath the labored in and out of her breath. "It doesn't matter what you did," he says, gripping the phone tight enough that his hand shakes slightly with the effort, his fear like a sudden cold rush down his spine. "Okay? That doesn't matter. Just tell me where you are, Alex."

There's conversation next to him, Andrea giving their standard spiel to the visitors who'd just come in--map, special exhibits, what brings you in today? and the bathrooms are down the hall to the right--but right now it sounds like noise from a distant shore. "I'll come get you."