Andreas’ words still hung in the air.
“She is here. In the hospital.”
Gabriel stood still, his back half turned toward Isabella, his shoulders stiff as though the news had struck him somewhere deep and personal. He did not notice the way Isabella’s fingers tightened against the bedsheet, or how the colour drained slowly from her face.
His mother.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
“Where is she?” Gabriel asked.
“She’s downstairs,” Andreas replied. “Near the reception.”
Gabriel nodded once, rubbing his jaw. “I’ll see her briefly.”
Isabella’s breathing changed.
It was subtle at first, but then her hands began to shake. Not violently. Not enough to draw attention unless someone was really watching. Her eyes drifted toward the door, then away again, as if the walls themselves had ears.
