The bus station lights were white. Buzzing.
Ella sat on a plastic chair. It crackled.
She touched her stomach.
The suction was gone. The black vines were gone. Just a low ache.
She bought a ticket. A city she didn't know.
The driver didn't look at her. He didn't smell the woods.
Just a woman in a dirty coat.
Invisible.
***
The room smelled of bleach.
Six floors up. The window was stuck.
Ella lay on the floor. The bed was too soft.
She counted the cash. One thousand. Two.
Meat was expensive. She would buy bread.
Her hands were shaking.
"Safe," she said.
No magic here. No shadows. Just the sound of a siren.
She closed her eyes. Roman was ash.
Empty peace.
***
The hospital smelled of iodine. Beeping.
"Push," the nurse said.
No blood moon. No chanting.
The boy didn't howl. He screamed.
A thin human sound.
"Healthy," the doctor said.
Ella looked at him. Black hair. Dark eyes.
She waited for the teeth. For the shadow.
Nothing. Just a warm lump of life.
"Leo."
A name for the brother. A mark for the father.