Marcus got up immediately, too quickly, as if his body was trying to compensate for the slowness with which his mind processed everything that was happening.
“You can see him,” she said, “but you need to remain calm. He’s still recovering, and any strong stimulus could affect him.”
Marcus nodded, though he wasn’t sure he could meet that condition, not when every step he took toward the room felt fraught with consequences.
He pushed the door open carefully, as if he feared that even that gesture might disturb something delicate in the air.
Zion was there, small, surrounded by cables and machines that seemed too big for his body, breathing with a regularity that did not quite reassure him.
Marcus approached slowly, stopping halfway, unable to move forward completely or retreat to the safety of the corridor.
He observed him, noticing details that had previously gone unnoticed: the slight movement of his fingers, the soft sound of his breathing, the evident fragility of his chest.
She felt out of place, as if she didn’t know how to be there without breaking something else, something that had already been put at risk by her own intervention.
“I’m here,” he whispered, though he didn’t know if he was speaking to Zion or to himself, trying to anchor himself to a reality that no longer seemed so solid.
The memory returned again, insistent, as if it refused to be ignored: Emily leaning slightly, gently holding the baby’s head as the water fell softly.
