I wake to white ceiling tiles and the smell of antiseptic.
Hospital. I'm in a hospital.
My hand goes immediately to my stomach. Flat. Empty.
"No." The word rips out of me. "No, no—"
"She's awake." A nurse. Rushing over. "Ms. Sterling, you need to stay calm. Your blood pressure—"
"My baby." I'm trying to sit up. Machines beeping. "Where's my baby?"
"Your baby's fine." A doctor appears. Older woman. Calm voice. "You're still pregnant. But you had a placental abruption. We've stabilized you, but you're on strict bed rest. Any stress, any movement, and we could lose—"
"Damien." I grab her arm. "There was a man. Damien Cross. He was shot. Is he—"
"I'll find out." The doctor nods to the nurse. "But first, you need to stay calm. For your daughter's sake."
Daughter. James was right. We're having a girl.
If she survives. If I survive. If any of us survive this nightmare.
