Zane woke without urgency.
The sensation came first as a faint disturbance, a soft irregularity in the dark that did not belong to his breathing or Willow's. He lay still for a moment, eyes closed, letting awareness gather slowly rather than forcing it, the way he had learned to do since illness had taught his body to resent being rushed.
The sound persisted.
Not loud. Not sharp. Just present.
A small, rhythmic insistence that did not escalate, did not plead, did not panic.
Zane frowned slightly, the crease forming before the thought did. He listened past the hum of the building, past the distant murmur of the city far below the windows, past the steady rise and fall of Willow's breath beside him.
Then he realized what it was.
The monitor.
He opened his eyes.
