Runze's POV
I stare at the mint-green baby bathtub resting on the marble counter of the nursery's en-suite bathroom.
It stares back.
It looks so harmless, flanked by a folded stack of soft white towels and a simple bottle of baby soap.
I've watched Mrs. Wen do this exact routine twice a day for nearly two weeks. I know all the rules in my head. I know a baby's neck muscles are too weak to hold up her own head. I know how quickly a newborn can lose heat. I know wet newborn skin is slippery as ice.
I know all of it. So why does my chest feel so tight I can barely expand my lungs?
"You're staring at it like it's going to bite you."
I don't even have to turn around to know Bael is standing in the doorway. I catch his reflection in the tall mirror above the sink, his dark hair still slightly messy from sleep, his collar open, his shirt sleeves pulled up past his forearms.
