Kira was asleep.
Huh. That was strange. I’d only been gone five minutes.
She lay on her back, one hand resting gently over her belly, her face turned slightly toward the window. Her features were soft, undisturbed. She looked peaceful.
I stepped closer, slowly, like I didn’t want to wake her. Reached out. Brushed my fingers across her shoulder.
She felt warm. But wrong.
Too still.
I glanced up at the nurse. She was standing near the wall. Not doing anything. Just staring—vacant, dazed. Her uniform rumpled. Her hands motionless.
Something about her expression sent a chill along the back of my neck.
I set the pizza down quietly and looked back to Kira.
“Did she fall asleep?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
A heavy silence blanketed the room. The type that hummed behind the ears and pressed down on the chest like drowning.
Something crawled down my spine.
“Is she okay?” I asked. My voice cracked. “Did she just fall asleep?”
The nurse didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Her lips parted slightly.
I looked at her again—and something clicked.
I knew that face.
Not from the hospital. Not from now.
The dacha. The woman with the judge.
The one who wept when I killed him.
“Fate brought us together,” she whispered. “He took my child. I took his.”
My blood turned to ice.
I crossed the room and grabbed her by the arms, shook her hard. “What the fuck did you do to her?!”
She didn’t fight. Didn’t scream. Just stared through me, silent tears cutting down her face.
I turned back to Kira again.
The lights in the room seemed brighter now, harsh against her skin. Machines beeped softly beside her. A breeze from the overhead vent stirred the curtain slightly, brushing the edge of her blanket like a ghost.
My hands moved without thinking—I touched her again, harder now. Her skin was soft. Her mouth parted just slightly, like she’d fallen asleep mid-sentence. Her lashes didn’t flutter. Her chest didn’t rise.
Nothing.
Panic surged through my blood like acid.
She wasn’t breathing.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no—”
