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Silence hung in the apartment, pierced only by the faint, persistent tick of the clock. Beyond the windows, the city slept under a veil of amber streetlight. Inside, you paced, one hand pressed to the taut curve of her belly, restless under the baby's ceaseless, rolling movements. She had slipped into the cool dark of the living room, determined not to disturb Zayne's rest. Then, the quiet was broken by the soft groan of a door hinge. The bedroom door stood open. Zayne was there, shirtless and sleep-rumpled, his green eyes finding her instantly in the dimness, concern softening his still-drowsy face.