I stood very still, my thoughts moving quickly. So it hadn't been my imagination. Something had been off with Alisa, and now I understood why Wallace had insisted on closing the door he had already known, or suspected, and wanted to make sure no one outside could overhear what he was about to say.
"What's the problem?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.
"There are signs pointing to a possible miscarriage risk," he said, his tone measured and clinical. "She smells of mugwort she's likely been using herbal remedies on her own, and may even be administering progesterone shots in secret."
Everything clicked into place. Alisa's insistence that the baby was fine, her hesitation when Wallace had offered to check her pulse, the careful way she moved. She cared about that child far more deeply than anyone around her seemed to realize. Maybe more than Luke did.
