RAFAEL
The hospital room was too quiet. I sat in the stiff armchair beside Isabella’s bed, elbows on my knees, watching her sleep. The monitors beeped steadily, heart rate normal now, after hours of fluids and anti-nausea meds. Her face was pale, lashes dark against her cheeks, hair messy from tossing and turning earlier. She looked so small in that sterile bed. So breakable, I hated it.
The door opened softly. Marco stepped in, silent as always, closing it behind him with a quiet click. I stood up without a word and jerked my head towards the corner of the room, away from the bed. He followed.
I kept my voice low.
“What do you have for me?”
Marco handed me a thick folder. His face was its usual blank mask, but I could see the weight behind his eyes.
“Her mother,” he said. “Maria R
