The room had finally gone quiet.
No more nurses adjusting lines. No more blood-pressure cuff squeezing her arm every five minutes. Just the steady beep of the monitor, the faint hum of the air vent, and the dragging ache across Willow's abdomen that made her feel like someone had taken her apart and put her back together with fire instead of thread.
She lay half-reclined, the blanket pulled up to her ribs, the cannula scratching lightly at the inside of her nose. Her hand rested over the flatness where her belly had been round hours ago, fingers spread as if they could feel the absence and the new presence at the same time.
Zana Victoria, she thought, tasting the name and feeling the weight of it settle deeper.
The door opened softly.
