Chapter 23

A half month later...

The hospital smelled too clean.

Innara noticed it every time she breathed in- sharp antiseptic layered over something metallic and old, like the memory of blood scrubbed too many times from white walls that refused to forget. She had been here long enough to recognise the rhythm of the place. The muted footsteps in the corridor. The soft beeping of machines that never slept. The way the light never truly dimmed, even at night, as if darkness itself was not permitted to settle.

She had arrived here the same night she reached Mexico.

Not as a patient.

As an object that required monitoring.

They had brought her directly from the airstrip, careful and efficient, cushioning her body as if she were glass already cracking. No sirens. No urgency. Just inevitability. The three men had never left- not truly. They rotated shifts outside her room, spoke quietly into earpieces, watched every doctor, every nurse, every visitor. She wasn't allowed visitors- not like she had one, anyway.

Not family. Not friend. Not even names.

She didn't ask anymore.

At first, she had tried.

Now she counted time by how much heavier her body felt every morning.

Half a month had passed since then. Fifteen days of white ceilings and controlled silence. Fifteen days of nurses who smiled too professionally and doctors who spoke gently but never freely. They checked her vitals twice as often as normal. Blood pressure. Oxygen. Fetal heart rate. Every chat was perfect. Every result was reassuring.

Innara lay on her side, knees drawn up as much as her swollen belly allowed. The child shifted, inside her, a long, slow movement that pressed outward like a reminder that she was not alone inside her own body. She pressed her palm against the curve instinctively, grounding herself.

Something was wrong.

It wasn't pain- not yet. It was the feeling beneath it. The tight coil was low in her spine. The way the air felt thicker, heavier, as if the room itself were bracing for impact. She had learned long ago to trust that feeling. It has saved her more times than logic ever had.

She inhaled slowly.

The nurse entered quietly, pushing a cart with practiced ease. She was older than the others, her movements economical, her voice calm without being false. Innara liked her for that. Liked her as much as she allowed herself to like anyone anymore.

"Buenos días, How are we feeling?" The nurse softly asked her Mexican accent slipping in between.

(Translation: Good morning.)

Innara hesitated.

The honest answer pressed against her tongue- afraid- but she swallowed it.

"Tired." She said instead.

The nurse smiled gently and checked the monitor clipped to her finger, then adjusted the sensor across her belly. The steady thump-thump of the baby's heartbeat filled the room. Strong. Rhythmic. Alive. Innara's eyes glistened at that gentle voice.

"That's normal, you are close now." The nurse said.

Close.

The word sent a ripple of unease through her chest.

"How close?" Innara asked quietly.

The nurse paused just a fraction too long.

"Soon. Your body is preparing." She said.

Innara turned her head toward the window. It looked out over nothing meaningful- just a slice of city blurred by tinted glass, the world kept at a safe distance. She wondered briefly if Agustín had ever stood in a room like this, looking at a city he didn't belong to, feeling time slip through his fingers.

The thought hurt more than she expected.

A dull ache bloomed low in her abdomen, not sharp enough to heal breath, but insistent. She exhaled slowly, fingers tightening into the sheets. The nurse noticed immediately.

"Is that a contraction?" The nurse asked.

Innara nodded.

"Timing?" She asked again.

"I don't know. They have been irregular." She admitted.

The nurse checked the monitor again, then nodded once.

"Early labor. You are safe. Everything is going well." She said.

The words slid over Innara without settling.

Safe.

The door opened briefly, and one of the men stepped in- tall, dark-haired, eyes scanning the room with habitual alertness. He didn't speak. Just nodded once to the nurse before stepping back out. Innara's chest tightened.

"Will they stay?" She asked quietly, unable to stop herself. The nurse followed her gaze to the door.

"Yes. They are...assigned to you." She said neutrally.

Assigned.

Innara closed her eyes.

Another contraction rolled through her, stronger this time. It pulled low and deep, a tightening that spread through her hips and down her thighs. She breathed through it, slow and controlled, like she'd been taught. The nurse adjusted the bed slightly, lifting her upper body.

"You are doing very well. I'll call the doctor." She said.

As the nurse left, the room seemed to shrink.

The machines hummed softly. The baby shifted again, harder now, a sudden kick that made Innara gasp. She pressed both hands to her belly, panic fluttering dangerously close to the surface. Easy, she told herself. Easy. Her instincts screamed louder. Something was wrong. Not with the baby, with the timing.

The air felt charged, like the moment before a storm broke. Her skin prickled. Her heart beat too fast, too hard, as if it were trying to outrun something she couldn't see. The door opened again, another nurse this time, younger, her smile too bright.

"Sweetheart, we're going to move you to the delivery suite." She said gently.

Innara's breath caught.

"Now?" She asked.

"Yes, your contractions are progressing." The nurse said.

Innara scanned her room- nothing out of place, nothing overtly threatening. And yet the sense of impending wrongness tightened its grip around her spine.

"Can I wait? Just a little." She asked softly.

The nurse exchanged a glance with someone outside the door.

"It's better if we don't. We want to keep everything controlled." She said.

Controlled.

They wheeled her through the corridors, lights passing overhead in a blur. The ceiling tiles looked identical, repeating endlessly, like she was being drawn deeper into something she wouldn’t be able to back out of. The delivery room was larger and colder. Machines everywhere. Sterile instruments laid out with careful precision. The bed was narrower, more confining. The three men were already there- positioned just outside the glass wall, visible silhouettes, unmoving.

Her pulse spiked.

"Why are they here?" She asked, her voice sharper now.

The nurse paused.

"For you safety." She replied.

Another contraction hit- harder, longer. Innara cried out despite herself, fingers clawing at the sheets as pain radiated through her pelvis. She gasped, sweat breaking out along her hairline.

The doctor entered then, calm, composed, introducing herself in a voice that felt practiced.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Nitya Batra." She said. She looked kind with soft and comforting eyes.

"We are going to help you bring out the baby into the world." She said reassuringly.

Innara stared at her.

"Something is wrong." She said hoarsely. She smiled gently.

"Don't worry, dear. It's fear. That's very common." She said caressing her forehead gently.

"No. This is different." She whispered, shaking her head.

Another contraction tore through her, stealing her breath completely. Her body bore down, instinctively. Muscles tightening without permission. The doctor frowned slightly.

"That's fast." She murmured.

The nurse checked the monitor again, her brow creasing. Her instincts screamed now.

The pain intensified rapidly, coming too close together, overwhelming, her body moving ahead of itself as if pushed by something unseen. She cried out, tears spilling freely now, panic clawing its way into every breath.

"I don't like this. Please- Please something is wrong." She sobbed.

The doctor's calm faltered now.

"Innara... Calm down." Dr. Nitya sat beside her. She couldn't see her crying like that.

She gently took Innara in her embrace and caressed her head amiably. Everyone looked at her with shock, not because she hugged a patient and tried to comfort her as it was nothing new. Dr. Nitya Batra was a name in this hospital everyone knew for her kindness, gentle behaviour and patience but what shocked them was that she was trying to comfort a woman who was in the hospital under control of some unknown authority and they had strict orders to not to interact with her much.

But Nitya was always a rebellion one, working upon her own thoughts rather than some rules and regulations. She was fearless, bubbly but when she takes something seriously then no one can stop her from doing that thing. The nurse swallowed and looked behind at those shadows and then back at the scene.

"Please stop crying. Everything will be alright. Trust me." She said rubbing her hands on Innara's back.

"I'm scared. Please don't let anything happen to my baby. I've got nothing in my life but her." Innara sobbed out. Nitya kept soothing her.

"I know... I know... My love. Trust me. I'll not let anything happen to both of you." Dr. Nitya said in a comforting manner and made her lay back on the bed.

"Prepare for the delivery." She instructed the nurse around.

The room was filled with motion. Gloves snapping on. Equipment repositioned. Voices overlapping. Innara's vision blurred.

She felt pressure- too much, too sudden- her body forcing the child downward before her mind could catch up. She screamed as pain exploded through her, white-hot and consuming.

"Breathe. You have to breathe." The nurse urged.

She tried. God, she tried. Her hands trembled violently. Her heart raced so fast she thought it might burst. And then- something shifted. Not physically. Energetically. The room felt… watched.

Her gaze snapped to the glass wall. One of the men had stepped forward, closer than before, his expression unreadable.

A wave of terror washed over her.

"No, don't--- please--- " she whispered hoarsely.

Another contraction hit, stronger than all the others combined. Her body bore down violently, a scream tearing from her throat as agony ripped through her.

"I can’t, I can’t---" she cried.

"You can, Innara. You have to for your baby." Dr. Nitya replied assessing her.

"I can see the head." She said urgently.

Innara sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably. Pain, fear, instinct- all colliding into something primal and overwhelming. She felt like she was being torn apart from the inside. Her mind screamed danger even as her body did what it was built to do.

"Push." Dr. Nitya instructed. She shook her head weakly.

"I don't want this, please something is wrong---" she sobbed.

"Innara, love. You don't have a choice right now. Please push, don't give up." Nitya encouraged her.

Another contraction stole the choice from her. She pushed. Time fractured. Pain consumed everything. The room spun. Voices blurred into noise. Her world narrowed to breath and fire and terror.

And then-

A cry.

Sharp. Sudden. Alive.

The sound sliced through her fear like lightning. The baby's cry filled the room, raw and undeniable. Innara collapsed back against the bed, sobbing, gasping, her body trembling violently as relief and exhaustion crashed over her.

"It's a girl." The nurse said softly.

A girl.

The words barely registered.

She searched desperately with her eyes.

"Please, Let me see her." she whispered.

The nurse brought her closer- small, red, perfect in a way that shattered her heart.



She cried loudly, fists clenched, alive.

Her breath caught painfully in her chest.

"My baby." she whispered.

But even as tears streamed down her face, even as love surged through her like a wave, the sense of dread did not leave.

It tightened.

Deepened.

Because instinct had never lied to her before.

And it was screaming now louder than ever-

This was not the end.

It was the beginning of something far worse.

"You need rest." Dr. Nitya said and left but as soon as she left the air shifted in the room.

The cry faded.

Not gradually- not the way sound usually softened and dissolved- but abruptly, like someone had reached into the room and torn it out of the air. One moment the baby's voice was sharp and living and undeniable, the next there was only the hum of machines and the rush of blood in Innara's ears.

Her body went cold.

She felt hands on her- gentle, professional- but they were suddenly too far away, as if she were sinking beneath them. Her vision blurred at the edges, the ceiling lights smearing into long white streaks. She tried to speak, to ask where her baby was going, why the nurse was turning away, but her tongue felt heavy, useless.

"Wait-" she whispered.

No one answered.

The room tilted. Darkness crept in from the corners of her vision, thick and suffocating. Her last coherent thought was a sharp, instinctive certainty that burned brighter than pain or exhaustion:

Don't let them take her.

Then everything went black.

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