Felicity's POV

The healing wing smelled of lavender and something bitter—herbs meant to mend wounds that went deeper than flesh.

I lay in the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, my body still aching from the journey. Every breath felt heavy, like the air itself was filled with everything I'd done. But none of it mattered as much as the soft, rhythmic breathing coming from the crib beside me.

Elian.

My son.

I turned my head slowly, wincing at the pull in my side, and gazed at him. He was ...