The silence that followed settled over the room with a heavier weight than before, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. The steady pulse of the monitor continued beside the bed, each soft beep measuring time in patient, indifferent intervals. Zane pulled the chair Victor had just vacated a little closer to the mattress and lowered himself into it, the movement careful so the legs would not scrape too loudly against the tile floor. Once seated, his gaze returned to Willow and lingered there with a quiet attentiveness that felt almost like a physical touch. He studied the pallor that had drained the color from her skin, the faint sheen of sweat gathered along her temples, and the subtle tightening around her mouth that appeared every time the smallest shift of her body stirred pain beneath the stitches.
"You look like hell," he said softly, the words gentle rather than critical.
