Moira's POV

Morning light slides through the curtains.

My eyes burn. The ceiling's the same as it was three hours ago when I gave up trying to sleep. Same cracks in the plaster. Same shadows creeping across the pale surface.

The triplets shift inside me. Restless. They've been moving all night, responding to the tension coiled in my chest.

'If this doesn't work, Logan and Lucas die in two days.'

The thought doesn't spiral. Doesn't scatter into panic. It just ...