Chapter 1: The Cold Window
The light in the room was too bright, cutting through the frost patterns on the glass like shards of unpolished silver. My eyelids felt heavy, glued together by hours of restless, medicated sleep. Every breath I took pulled at the bruised skin across my ribs, a dull ache that reminded me I was still breathing, still here. My left arm was pinned at an awkward angle, but I didn't dare move. Resting against my chest, curled into a warm, rhythmic ball, was Eli. Her tiny fingers were knotted tight into the cotton fibers of my white shirt, a reflex so strong even sleep couldn't loosen it.
I blinked against the glare. The room smelled of antiseptic, damp wool, and the faint, metallic scent of cold iron. Standing near the foot of the white bed was a man in a black suit. His shoulders were broad, his dark hair neatly trimmed, and his beard shadowed a jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked. Gabriel. Even without looking at his face, I knew the exact weight of his presence. It was an intense, suffocating sort of protection—the kind that came from a man who had spent months searching for a ghost.
Near the doorway, half-shadowed by the frame, stood Mason. His police uniform was rumpled, the silver badge catching the morning light, and a dark purple bruise blossomed across his left cheekbone. He had a steady, unblinking guarding stance, his weight balanced evenly on both boots. When Gabriel took a half-step closer to the mattress, the floorboards gave a faint, protesting creak.
Mason raised a single hand, his fingers coming up to press gently against his lips.
"Don't wake her," Mason said, his voice a gravelly whisper that barely carried over the hum of the radiator.
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Gabriel froze. His gaze didn't leave my face. It was a terrifying look—calm on the surface, but burning with a cold, absolute fury that could tear down concrete walls. I wanted to speak, to tell him I was awake, to reassure him that Eli was safe, but my throat was parched. I lay completely still, my eyes half-lidded, watching the way his chest rose and fell in time with my own. The contrast between the pristine white bed linens and the raw, purple scratches on my cheek wasn't something he could unsee.
Gabriel finally exhaled, a slow, controlled release of breath that ruffled his dark beard. He didn't look at Mason. He didn't look at the frosted window. His entire world had narrowed down to the space between my heartbeat and the baby's steady breathing.
