The NICU never slept.
It breathed instead. A low, constant hum threaded through the room, steady and mechanical, like a body sustaining itself through will and vigilance. Willow felt it the moment the doors slid open, the familiar mix of antiseptic chill and cautious hope settling over her skin. The lights were dimmer than the rest of the hospital by design, softened to protect fragile eyes. Even sound seemed muted here, footsteps absorbed, voices lowered as if the room itself demanded reverence.
The smell followed. Clean, sharp, unmistakable. Disinfectant layered with plastic tubing and warmed air. Less metallic than before. Less alarming. She noticed that immediately, the way her body catalogued the difference before her mind did.
