Night in the maternity recovery wing was a strange thing.
It wasn't quiet. Not really. Machines hummed, monitors beeped, nurses whispered in the hall. But the emotional quiet — that hushed, suspended kind — settled over everything, turning the world into a dim cocoon around Willow's bed.
The hours blurred together, time losing its edges the way pain did. Night didn't move forward so much as sink inward, pressing down on the room until everything felt slowed and intimate. Even the air seemed heavier, thick with antiseptic and breath and waiting.
Zane stayed exactly where she'd asked him to be.
Not in the chair.Not across the room.
But right beside her bed, forearms resting on the rail, his body angled toward hers as though he could shield her from every unseen threat with just his presence.
