Jian lay with his head nestled against the side of the bed, his cheek still damp with the last of his tears, when sleep finally pulled him under—gentle, like the way his mother's voice might have sounded in another life. The weight in his chest loosened as his breathing slowed, the sound of her steady pulse from the monitor lulling him deeper into unconsciousness.
But in the still hours of the night, something shifted.
Her fingers—thin and pale against the soft blanket—twitched.
A tremor, subtle as a heartbeat, passed through her palm. Her eyelids fluttered for a brief moment, then stilled again.
Far away, a sound split through the quiet like a fracture.
Jian's body jerked as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he didn't understand what had pulled him out of sleep. Then he heard it.
Scrape. Crack. Squirm.
His temples throbbed.
