They moved Willow like she was made of thin glass—something breakable, something precious, something no one dared mishandle. Two nurses guided her gurney swiftly down the hallway while Zane walked beside her shoulder, never touching but hovering with the instinct of a man ready to catch the world if it fell apart. Victor took the opposite side, his movements controlled, jaw locked, eyes tracking every monitor reading as though he could keep her stable by sheer force of will.
The hallway lights passed overhead in a steady rhythm, each one briefly illuminating her face before sliding away again. Willow felt suspended between them—between urgency and restraint, between the men flanking her like opposing forces. The gurney rattled softly beneath her, the sound vibrating through her bones, too loud in the narrowed space of her awareness.
