Nana stays unconscious for days. The room is always quiet except for the steady sound of her breathing — weak, shallow, but still there. Lowell barely leaves her side. His strong shoulders look smaller now, weighed down by worry and exhaustion. His eyes, once sharp and full of authority, seem distant and lifeless. He sits beside the bed, holding her cold hand in his large palm, his thumb brushing softly over her knuckles, again and again, as if afraid to stop.
Felicia takes care of the little Lycan Prince. She rocks the baby gently in her arms while whispering prayers. Every single day, she kneels by Nana’s bedside, holding one hand to the child and the other to Nana’s arm.
“You will come back to us, Nana,” she whispers. “You will hold your son… I know you will.”
The healer checks on Na
