Harlan didn't know her name, but the honey eyes, the lips, the pregnant swell— it was her, the woman Rafael had poured his soul out about on that windswept cliff. "Easy now, miss," he said, his gravelly voice a soothing rumble, guiding her to the chair beside the bed. "Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That's it. Stress like this... it ain't kind to you or that little one you're carryin'. I've seen enough life to know—panic helps no one."
Eliana sank into the seat, her long curly black hair spilling forward as she clutched the armrests, her warm brown skin paling to match Rafael's ghostly hue. Tears welled unbidden, hot trails carving paths down her cheeks. "I... I thought it was a lie. Another one. But he's... how could he look like this?" Her voice broke, a sob escaping as she reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering over his hand—large, veined, usually so commanding, now limp and cool.
