The drive to the hotel felt dreamlike, the kind of quiet that only follows a week of alarms, monitors, and the constant churn of medical urgency. Willow rested against the seat, her abdomen braced carefully with a small pillow the nurse insisted she take home. Outside, the city moved in soft blurs of light, but inside the SUV the world felt muted, suspended, as if everything was learning how to slow down for her sake.
Zane kept one hand on the wheel and one eye on her. Not hovering, not crowding—just watching her breathing the way someone watches a flame they nearly lost to the wind. When she winced at a bump in the road, his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he didn't speak. He adjusted his speed instead, easing them along as though he'd memorized every crack in the pavement.
