The hallway to the NICU was quiet in a way that felt sacred, as if sound itself softened out of respect for the tiny lives behind the glass doors. Willow's transport chair moved slowly, guided by two nurses who kept their hands steady on the rails. Zane walked beside her right shoulder, close enough that she could feel the heat of him and the way he kept glancing down to make sure she was not fading. Victor stayed on her left, his posture straight and his expression composed, but his fingers trembled once against his thigh before he curled them into a fist.
Willow tried to breathe normally, but her breaths kept stumbling. Every jolt and every shift of the chair tugged painfully at her incision. Pain bloomed low in her abdomen, sharp at first before settling into a dull dragging ache that made her vision dim slightly at the edges. She closed her eyes briefly, fighting the wave of dizziness threatening to pull her under.
