Atlas went to the medical wing before the evening reports.
The corridor outside was quiet. Night staff moved with the low efficiency of people who had already finished the loud part of their work. He nodded once to the guard at the door and stepped inside.
Clara was awake, sitting propped against the pillows. The child lay against her chest, one small fist curled near her mouth. A single lamp burned on the side table. The midwife had already left for the night watch rotation. The room smelled of clean linen and warm milk.
Clara looked up when he entered and offered a tired smile.
"She's been quiet most of the afternoon," she said. "Only woke to eat."
