The conference room goes quiet. Garrett looks at me. I keep my eyes on Mattaniah because the instinct to smooth this over, to agree with the board and manage his reaction later, is exactly the instinct I've been unlearning.
"When?" I ask him.
His shoulders drop a fraction. "After the first ultrasound. After I've seen a heartbeat and heard from the doctor that everything is healthy. Then we announce."
"The first ultrasound is scheduled for next week." Amos says it without looking up from his legal pad, the logistics already mapped. "I can have the announcement drafted and ready to file the same day if the results are clear."
"Then next week." I turn back to Garrett. "Draft the announcement. Hold it until after the ultrasound."
Garrett nods. "I'll have it ready."
Mattaniah's knee finds mine again under the table. The pressure is deliberate. Through the bond something settles between us.
The meeting wraps in another ten minutes. Amos records everything on his legal pad. We shake hands with Garrett and counsel. Amos winces at the handshake on his left side but covers it well enough that only I notice.
The elevator down to the lobby is quiet. The three of us stand in a row, Mattaniah in the middle, his reflection visible in the polished doors.
"The corporate side is closed and the criminal side is proceeding." Amos says it watching the floor numbers descend. "Father has no remaining legal avenue to challenge anything."
The elevator opens to the lobby. We walk out into midday sun that's warm enough to make Mattaniah squint. Amos puts his sunglasses on carefully because his ribs still object to sudden movements.
"Lunch?" Mattaniah looks at both of us. "I'm starving and the kidney bean wants Thai food again."
"The kidney bean wanted Thai food yesterday." Amos adjusts his sunglasses.
"The kidney bean wants what it wants." Mattaniah starts walking toward the Thai restaurant two blocks south. "Are you coming or do I have to eat for four by myself?"
"For four?" I fall into step beside him.
"Three parents plus one kidney bean. That's four." He glances at me sideways. "Math, Dominic. You run a company."
Amos makes a sound from my other side that he disguises as a cough.
Amos
Theultrasoundroomissmaller than the prep documents suggested, barely enough space for the examination table and three people who don't know what to do with their hands.
I've read four studies on eight-week ultrasound protocols in the past seventy-two hours. I know the expected fetal measurements, the normal cardiac rate range, the statisticalprobability of detecting abnormalities at this gestational stage. The spreadsheet cross-referencing Mattaniah's symptom progression against published Omega pregnancy timelines took me forty minutes. The data is thorough and well-organized. It's completely useless against the fear that's been sitting in my stomach since we parked the car.
Mattaniah is on the table with his shirt pushed up and the elastic waistband of his pants rolled below his hips. His stomach has softened into a curve below his navel that's visible when he's lying down. His bond marks have settled into silver on both sides of his throat.
Dominic stands on the right side with his hand on Mattaniah's stomach. His scent has been running hot since the waiting room, thickening into something territorial that I can taste in the small space.
I stand on the left side with my hand wrapped around Mattaniah's. My ribs have healed enough that standing doesn't require bracing, though the left side still pulls when I reach for things. My glasses are pushed up into my hair.
Dr. Vasquez applies the gel and Mattaniah hisses.
"Warn a person." He says it through his teeth.
"I said it would be cold." Vasquez positions the wand against his lower abdomen.
"You said 'slightly cool.' That was not slightly cool. That was arctic."
"I'll update my terminology." Vasquez moves the wand in slow sweeps. The screen fills with gray and black static that I'm already trying to read. "Just give me a moment to find the right angle."
Mattaniah's fingers tighten around mine. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling and his breathing has gone shallow and quick. Through the bond his anxiety is climbing. His scent has gone thin with fear.
I squeeze his hand. His knuckles are white around my fingers.
