The hospice room smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender, an odd mix that made Chloe's chest ache. She stood at the side of her mother's bed, staring down at her fragile form. The stroke had stolen so much, mobility, speech, the light in her eyes. It didn't feel kind that she was alive, but not truly living.

Tonight, that would change.

Valerius had already cleared the path, bending the nurses' and doctors' wills so they wouldn't interrupt. It was just Chloe, her mother, and the three women ...