Nearly two months later, the imperial delivery wing, sealed and guarded by four elite Shadows, felt more like a war room than a medical chamber.
Inside, the lights were dimmed to a soft glow, ward lines humming faintly along the walls as the air thickened with ether and heat. Gabriel lay on the delivery bed, half-covered by a thin linen sheet, his robe discarded long ago. Sweat slicked his skin, his dark hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. Every breath came in sharp, shallow pulls. The pain didn't come in waves anymore, it was like a tide, merciless and constant.
Damian sat on the edge of the bed, leaned close, and braced one hand tightly around Gabriel's. The other moved in careful patterns across Gabriel's abdomen, ether channeled through his fingertips in slow pulses, soothing, numbing.
"Another push," the physician instructed, quiet but firm, from the foot of the bed.
