Not even a flicker.
Something in him snapped tighter.
“I swear to God,” he said quietly, his voice dropping into something colder, more dangerous, “if they took one more thing fromyou—”
He didn’t finish it.
Didn’t need to.
Because the promise sat heavy in the air anyway.
And it wasn’t empty.
Not even close.
Time didn’t move right inside that room.
It stretched, dragged, bent around the steady rhythm of the monitor like everything else had been stripped away. The only thing that mattered—the only thing Silas allowed to matter—was the rise and fall of Becca’s chest beneath his hand.
Too slow.
Too quiet.
Too still.
The doctor’s expression had shifted ten minutes ago, and Silas caught it. That subtle change. That hesitation no one else would notice.
He stepped closer instantly. “Say it.”
The doctor didn’t look up right away, fingers pressing carefully along her abdomen, watching for reaction that never came. “She’s not responding the way she should.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
A beat.
Then— “There’s likely internal bleeding.”
The room went cold.
Silas didn’t react outwardly at first. No explosion. No raised voice.
Just a stillness that felt heavier than anything else.
“How bad?” he asked, his tone controlled—too controlled.
“We don’t know yet,” the doctor replied. “But if it’s not managed quickly, it becomes critical.”
Silas’s jaw tightened, something dark flashing behind his eyes.
“Then manage it.”
The command wasn’t loud.
But it carried weight.
The kind that didn’t allow failure.
The nurse moved faster, prepping additional equipment, hands steady but urgent now. The doctor followed, issuing quiet instructions, shifting into something more aggressive—monitoring, adjusting, stabilizing.
