She sat up—not from fear, from habit. Her hand touched her abdomen, then pushed the blanket aside.
The floor was cold. The slippers waited. She put them on.
The room felt too quiet. Too aware. She walked into the bathroom.
She washed her face. The cold water pulled her into the present and she looked at the mirror. Her reflection hadn't changed. It was still calm. But her eyes were sharper.
She stepped back and paused. She didn't want to go downstairs. Not with him there. His presence made her tense. Like standing too close to something she couldn't predict.
So she went to the balcony.
The morning outside looked normal. Too normal. Guards below—more than before, positioned deliberately, watching everything.
Daniella leaned on the railing. Her stomach growled. Sharper now.
"Great."
She turned back inside. Lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Waiting.
Time passed. She didn't count it. She felt it in the house's rhythm—movement, voices, doors opening and closing.
