Willow woke with a heaviness that didn't belong to sleep alone. It clung to her body the way humidity clings to glass—thick, slow, impossible to shake off fully. For a moment she didn't move, letting her eyes adjust to the pale streaks of morning sliding through the curtains. Her head pulsed with that particular soreness that came from too much thinking, not enough resting. Her shoulders felt stiff from lying curled too long in one position. The base of her spine ached the way it always did now at thirty-two weeks.
But none of that was why she stayed still.
