Daniel stood frozen in the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital corridor, staring at Vanessa as if she were a stranger. Her words hung in the sterile air, heavy and poisonous. You and I could finally stop hiding. He pulled his arm from her grip, the coldness of her touch lingering on his skin.

Forty-eight miles away, inside the intensive care unit of Wakefield Regional Medical Center, Dr. Elena Brooks stood over Claire Mercer’s bed.

Forty-eight hours had passed since the emergency C-section. The hypothermic protocol had been successfully completed, and the medical team had slowly lowered the sedative medications.

Dr. Brooks shined a tiny penlight into Claire’s left eye.

Nothing. The pupil was sluggish.

She checked the right eye.

A tiny, faint twitch.

Dr. Brooks leaned in closer, her professional composure cracking just a fraction as she whispered, "Come on, Claire. You’re tougher than this. Your babies are downstairs waiting for their mother."

Slowly, agonizingly, Claire’s eyelids fluttered.

The dark, sweeping lashes parted. Her eyes blinked against the harsh overhead lights, unfocused, terrified, searching the ceiling before locking onto Dr. Brooks’s face.

"Claire?" Dr. Brooks asked softly, pressing the call button for the attending nurse. "Can you hear me?"

Claire’s lips parted, dry and cracked. She tried to speak, but only a faint, raspy breath escaped. Her hand twitched against the white hospital sheet, fingers curling inward as if searching for something—or someone.

"Don't try to talk yet," Dr. Brooks instructed gently, placing a warm, reassuring hand over Claire’s cold fingers. "You're safe. You're in the hospital. Surgery is over."

Claire’s eyes widened with a sudden, frantic panic. She remembered the glass window. She remembered Vanessa’s cream coat. She remembered the monitor screaming into a flat line.

The twins, Claire’s panicked expression screamed. Where are my babies?

"They're alive," Dr. Brooks anticipated her question, her voice steady and warm. "A boy and a girl. They’re in the NICU. They’re fighters, just like their mother."

A single tear spilled over Claire’s lashes, tracking a wet path down her pale cheek. She let out a long, shuddering exhale, the tension finally leaving her bruised frame.

"And... him?" Claire’s voice was barely a dry rasp, painful to listen to. "Daniel...?"