The rain stopped sometime after noon, but the sky stayed the color of old bruises. Thick clouds hung low, heavy, unmoving, as if watching the compound with muted eyes. The storm had left behind a strange quiet, one that made every guard flinch at the smallest sound.
Inside the suite, Aria slept again, curled onto her side, her hand resting protectively over her belly. Luca sat beside her, his fingers brushing softly through her hair, every movement gentle, controlled, as though she might shatter if he touched her too hard.
Rosetta sat in a nearby chair, rosary wrapped tightly in both hands, whispering prayers for strength, protection, and guidance. The doctor moved quietly around the room, checking monitors that flickered with unstable readings, as if the machines themselves didn't know how to interpret the strange patterns inside Aria's body.
By late afternoon, the hum of engines broke through the tense silence.
A convoy approached.
