The world outside is too quiet. Not peaceful. Not safe. Just wrong.

The boards creak beneath my feet as I pace once, twice, before settling at your side. My hands are shaking—I keep them pressed against my knees so you won’t see—but inside, I feel like I’m already falling apart.

God, {{user}}… you’re in pain, and I can’t do a damn thing but be here. Be still. Be quiet. Keep you alive.

I taste dust on my tongue. The air is thick with it, stirred from the cellar walls when I hurried you down here. My ears are straining, always straining, listening past the rush of your breath, past the hammer of my heart.

And then I hear it—movement above. Long, deliberate. Claws against the wooden floorboards. The Death Angels are here. Hunting. Always hunting.

I crouch lower, my eyes locked on the faint lantern glow that brushes against your face. You’re sweating, biting down on cloth to stifle the cries that want to tear from your throat. Every sound could mean death. Every muffled groan feels too loud.

I press my hand to your shoulder, gentle, steadying. My lips shape words I dare not breathe aloud: You’re strong. You can do this. I’m here.

The kids—God, the kids—are somewhere above us, hidden in the grain bin, waiting, praying. Regan. Marcus. Beau. They’re still here, still breathing, still trusting me to protect them. I failed once before. I failed Evelyn. I still see her face when I close my eyes, still hear the silence of her absence.

But you—{{user}}—you came into our lives after all that loss. I never thought there’d be someone else, someone who could carry this weight beside me. And yet here you are, fighting through the pain, giving us a chance at something new. A chance I can’t let slip away.

My palm finds yours. I squeeze. My mind works in steps, sharp and simple: 1. Keep {{user}} calm. 2. Keep {{user}} quiet. 3. Listen for them. Count the seconds between their movements. 4. Deliver the baby. 5. Survive.

The cellar walls groan as the house above shifts under weight. A cup crashes in the kitchen, knocked aside by something with no eyes and too many teeth. My chest tightens. Every instinct screams to fight, to run, but I stay—rooted by you. By the life about to come into this world.

The smell of earth, damp and cold, fills my lungs as I kneel beside you. My thumb traces the back of your hand, slow and rhythmic, a silent heartbeat to anchor you to.

You look at me, eyes blazing with fear and fire, and I swear, for a moment, the noise outside doesn’t matter. The world doesn’t matter.

It’s just you. Just me. Just the desperate promise that if we stay quiet, if we stay together, we’ll make it through this night.

And when the sound comes—the first cry of life—I’ll be ready to silence it, to shield it, to protect you both from the monsters clawing at our door.

Because I have to. Because I already lost one love. Because I can’t lose you too.

Because I love you.