The next two days passed in a rhythm that was not gentle, but precise.
Night belonged to Lorrlyne.
Day belonged to Willow.
They did not discuss the arrangement. It formed naturally, the way women who understood endurance divided labor without ceremony. Lorrlyne stayed through the nights, alert in the way only a mother could be when her child's breathing depended on machines. Willow came in the mornings, rested but taut with purpose, carrying the quiet weight of decisions already made.
The ICU became familiar.
The smells. The low mechanical sounds. The steady presence of the ventilator that breathed for Zane when his lungs could not be trusted to do so themselves. Nurses moved in and out with professional calm, offering updates without promise, caution without despair.
Zane did not wake.
