The tone had not changed, but something underneath it had—finality. The conversation was over before it could begin. Mateo straightened, nodded once, and left.
Hours passed. The hospital settled into the deep quiet of night, when even the emergency ward slowed and hallways emptied of all but essential staff. Santiago remained motionless, ignoring the weight of exhaustion pressing at the edges of his awareness.
Then Daniella stirred.
Her head turned slightly on the pillow, breathing changing from deep to aware. Her eyes opened slowly, blinking against the dim light. Disorientation flickered across her face, then her hand moved instinctively to her abdomen, and understanding settled.
Her gaze found him immediately. She did not startle, did not flinch—just looked at him with that same steady awareness.
"You're still here," she said, voice rough from sleep.
"Sleep."
The command was quiet but absolute. Her eyes narrowed, some of her usual sharpness returning.
"I'm not—"
