ELENA'S POV
Two months felt like two years.
That was the thing about living inside a war with a countdown running, time stopped moving the way it normally moved and started moving the way pressure moved instead. Heavy. Uneven. Some days collapsed into nothing and some days lasted longer than they had any right to.
I was seven months along.
The baby made sure I never forgot it.
She had opinions about everything now. Position. Pressure. The specific angle of the pillow Lucian kept adjusting at three in the morning because he had decided, somewhere in the last month, that adjusting my pillow was something he was going to do regardless of whether I asked him to. She communicated her opinions with her feet, which she deployed with the focused conviction of someone who had decided that ever
