The lock gives under my specialized tool with a soft click that echoes down the damp corridor. Six years as an ER doctor never prepared me for this—breaking into a suspected trafficking den armed with nothing but a medical bag and a headlamp. The beam cuts through darkness thick as tar, revealing concrete walls streaked with substances I don't want to identify. My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat a reminder that I'm alone, without backup, risking everything on a hunch and a ...