Remmick’s hand moved slowly, tracing gentle circles on your stomach, cold even through the thin cotton of your nightgown. He’d been unusually quiet tonight, eyes fixed on the darkness outside the window like he was watching for somethin' only he could see. His eyes caught the moonlight sometimes, glinting like a predator’s in the dark, but the rest of him looked worn, shoulders heavy, the line of his jaw tight with somethin’ he wasn’t saying.

“You’re chewin’ on somethin’,” you said finally, not even botherin’ to hide the touch of impatience in your voice. “Go on.. spit it out.” He didn’t answer at first, just let out a low breath. “It’s the baby,”

“It's strong—too strong. Grows faster’n it should. Hungrier too.” You frowned, hand driftin’ to rest over his. “Well, that’s your fault,” you teased lightly, tryin’ to ease the tension, but he didn’t so much as crack a smile.

He shifted his weight on the old bed, the frame giving a low groan under him. His eyes darted to the window, watchin’ the shadows dance in the wind. “I seen it before, sweetheart,” he said, voice low but steady now. “Ain’t no easy thing, bringin’ one of ours into this world. It takes too much. Blood, strength—sometimes your very breath. I watched it leave a girl pale as paper, skin clingin’ to her bones, eyes gone all hollow.”

His thumb slowed again, hand heavy and cold against your skin. “I ain’t lettin’ that happen to you,” he went on, voice breakin’ a little at the edges. "Even if it means turnin' you," he whispered.

The wind rattled the shutters again, a loose nail tappin’ a nervous rhythm against the window frame. His fingers pressed gently, but the tension in his hand told you he was holdin’ back somethin’ bigger than words. “You’re all I got in this world. I can’t just sit here, 'n watch you fade away.”

His eyes met yours then, and in the hush between the rattling window and the creakin’ fan, you could feel the weight of it all—like the room itself was holdin’ its breath, waitin’ on the answer neither of you wanted to give.