Hollow-eyed.
Lips slightly swollen from how hard I’d been biting them to suppress emotion.
My skin looked different.
Fragile. Wrong.
That was new.
I had never experienced sudden nausea like this before.
Not like that. Not so intense.
My fingers pressed lightly against my abdomen without thinking.
A brief gesture.
Unconscious.
My stomach churned again — not from sickness this time, but from something unsettling I refused to acknowledge.
I dropped my hand quickly.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Not now.
Not with everything happening.
I grabbed rough paper towels from the dispenser and dried my face.
Then I forced myself upright.
Forced strength into my spine.
Forced control over my breathing.
When I walked back into the visitation hall, my legs still felt unsteady — but I refused to show weakness.
Ruslan was still seated behind the glass.
He hadn’t moved.
He was watching the bathroom door I’d disappeared through.
Waiting.
When his eyes landed on me again, something flickered across his face.
Concern.
Real concern.
I didn’t sit back down.
“Ruslan,” I said flatly, “I have to go.”
