Damon stood at the door, his hand resting on the handle.
He didn't move right away.
For a few seconds, he just stood there, staring at the number on the plaque.
214.
Then, finally, he twisted the handle and stepped inside.
The air in the room was different, cooler, fresher than the hallway.
It wasn't the usual sterile hospital atmosphere.
This was a high-quality room, the kind reserved for private patients.
Svetlana lay on the bed, her breathing slow and steady. The sheets were tucked neatly around her, the monitors nearby giving soft beeps at a steady rhythm.
Damon walked toward her, his steps careful, controlled.
He wasn't sure why he was moving so slow, but he didn't rush.
He stopped beside the bed, standing over her for a moment.
Then he reached out, brushing his fingers along her cheek.
She looked peaceful.
No strain on her face, no tension.
Just resting.
His eyes lowered slightly, unconsciously shifting to her stomach.
