Dominic stood with a grim expression over the bed in the guest cabin, his arms crossed as he watched Cirian working over Amara. The air in the room was thick, the only sound the quiet brush of Cirian’s palms against her sternum. They could barely hear Amara’s pulse—faint, slow, almost imperceptible. His jaw clenched as the reality of her condition set in. Cirian’s hands trembled, and he wiped a tear away, his voice cracking as he muttered, “I should’ve listened to my gut as soon as I felt something was wrong. I would’ve come much sooner.”
Dominic, his face stoic, stepped closer to Cirian, his voice calm but unwavering. “There was no way you could have known,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. He watched as Cirian continued to work, tears trickling down between his knuckles, but Dominic
