He turned away.
The staircase waited at the end of the hall, descending into the darker parts of the house where the night had already completed its work. The first pale light of morning touched the upper windows now, tracing thin lines across the walls like fingers reaching through glass.
Santiago moved toward the stairs without hesitation.
Within minutes he was gone from the upper floor entirely. The quiet of the corridor sealed itself behind him like a wound closing.
---
In the white bedroom, Daniella slept on. Her breathing was deep and steady. The remnants of her nightmare faded into the soft blur of exhausted rest.
She did not know he had been there.
She did not feel the ghost of his fingers against her stomach, or the weight of his pause, or the cold calculation in his eyes when he had looked at the life she carried.
She slept.
