Chris strolled through the corridor like the palace belonged to him.
Which, unfortunately for everyone else, it did.
The nursery was finished. The room had been transformed into something soft, safe, and expensive, the type of space that made employees whisper prayers under their breath as they arranged blankets. Light fell through the windows in clean sheets. The walls had been painted in calm, warm tones. The crib looked like it had been commissioned from an artisan who feared both Dax and the concept of sharp corners.
Everything was ready.
And because everything was ready, everyone's anxiety had finally found a place to live.
Physicians appeared wherever Chris went, as if the medical wing had developed legs and decided it was his shadow. He could feel them watching him: not just eyes, but attention, like he was a bomb with a polite smile and a perfectly normal gait.
Chris found it entertaining.
