"What's the problem?" Osiris asked.
Cyrus stopped so suddenly that Osiris also stopped breathing for one short moment.
The corridor was cold, and the snow wind outside kept pushing against the stone walls with low sounds, but Cyrus's face looked colder than the winter around them. His red hair was slightly messy, his pink eyes were sharp and worried, and the hurried way he carried himself made even Osiris, who usually needed things explained three times and still came out with the wrong conclusion, understand that something serious had happened.
Cyrus looked at him and said, "Isabella may be giving birth soon."
Osiris froze.
Then his fiery eyes widened.
Then his mouth opened.
Then nothing came out.
For one very rare moment, Osiris looked as if someone had taken all the nonsense out of his head and left him with nothing but panic.
"What?" he finally said.
Cyrus tried to step past him. "Move."
