Time slid by in muted pieces—sunrise and sunset measured by the shadows that crawled across the private VIP room's curtains.
Yu stayed where he was:
A pale figure propped against the mound of hospital pillows, his thin wrists resting on the soft curve of his belly as though he could protect the three small lives inside him with his own hands. The sterile scent of disinfectant and roses and the faint beeping of the monitor were the only constants in his gilded cage.
On the outside, Adrian and Joy did everything short of tearing down the hospital doors to reach him. They mapped guard rotations, tried slipping forged visitor passes past the security desk, even considered a bribe or a distraction—each plan hitting the same wall:
Yu's frail condition.
When Izan finally spoke up, his voice was quiet but resolute.
"We'll do more harm than good right now. The babies… they can't handle this stress. None of us can risk pushing him any further."
