The double doors sealed shut behind Willow with a quiet hydraulic thump, and Zane stood staring at the narrow glass pane long after the last glimpse of her blue gown disappeared. His breath stayed caught in his chest, suspended, refusing to move. Something primitive inside him refused to accept the separation — as if if he stared long enough, she would somehow reappear.
But she didn't.
A nurse gently guided him backward, and he let himself be pushed.
The waiting room felt wrong — too bright, too empty, too silent. Zane sank into a rigid plastic chair, elbows on his knees, palms pressed together until his knuckles whitened. The humming fluorescent lights overhead stung his eyes. A vending machine rattled in the corner. Somewhere a monitor beeped steadily.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
