The second son was fighting me. The first had demanded his freedom with furious speed, but this one was rooted deep, resisting the pressure, refusing to yield to the chaotic world outside. Every contraction was a vicious reminder that I was tethered here, trapped in this concrete tomb.

The room was still a blur of sterile fear. Dr. Rossi, his face slick with sweat, worked with a focused intensity that bordered on desperation. Damon had retreated, leaving his mercenaries outside to guard ...