(Nova POV)
The first real contraction hit just after midnight.
It wasn't like the Braxton Hicks — those tightening waves that had teased us for weeks. This one was deeper, lower, a slow, powerful grip that wrapped around my middle and refused to let go. I woke with a gasp, one hand flying to the heavy curve of my belly, the other reaching blindly for Damien beside me.
He was already awake.
He had been for hours, I realized — sitting up against the headboard, one arm around my shoulders, the other resting protectively over the swell where our daughter lay. His silver-threaded eyes met mine instantly, calm but alert, no trace of the old shadow panic.
"It's time?" he asked, voice low and steady.
I nodded, breathing through the peak of the pain.
"It's different," I managed. "Stronger. Real."
The contraction eased slowly, leaving me trembling. The child rolled hard inside me — a fierce kick followed by a long, deliberate stretch — as though she, too, knew the moment had come.
