Todos os capítulos de What Survived The Burn: Capítulo 91 - Capítulo 100

Simon’s POVLoria hadn’t stirred in hours, and I was grateful for that—for the stillness, the peace. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her lips parted slightly in sleep. The small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth gave the illusion that she was dreaming of something light. But I knew better. That smile was the side effect of Midazolam softening the edges of her pain.She looked like a goddess and a ghost all at once, lying there under soft sheets and hooked up to too many machines. Lines trailed from her arms, bands wrapped around her swollen stomach, wires fed into blinking monitors. One of them beeped with each gentle beat of her heart. Another ticked steadily with the rhythmic movement of our pups.Zyan stirred in my chest, pacing just beneath the surface of my skin."There’s too much tech. She looks more machine than wolf," he growled. "She’s strong, but she’s not made for this. None of this is natural."I nodded, though no one would see it. He wasn’t wrong. None of th

Simon’s POVThe next two hours passed like slow poison.I sat in the same chair by Loria’s bedside, eyes locked on the monitors while Amy kept scribbling readings and Doc hovered like a hawk. The contractions hadn’t stopped, but they’d slowed. Slightly. Just enough to give us a sliver of hope—then rob us of it again.Doc checked the contraction chart one more time, her jaw tight.“It’s not enough,” she said finally, voice low. “We’re starting the magnesium.”My chest constricted. I looked at Amy, who nodded once, already moving toward the curtains that divided the NICU from the rest of the room.Zyan stirred inside me, restless and tense.“She’s already on her back, upside down, medicated. Now this?”“I know. But we don’t have a choice,” I muttered under my breath.Doc sighed, barely audible, her eyes scanning the fetal monitors.“We’ll be lucky if we can keep these babies in until tomorrow night,” she said.The words felt like a gut punch. Not next week. Not even the weekend. Tomorro

Amy’s POVThe air in the room had changed.I couldn’t name it exactly—maybe it was instinct, maybe it was the nurse in me—but something told me we were shifting. The lull was ending. The rhythm of the monitors had taken on a new kind of tension, the contractions appearing more frequently now, slow but steady pulses marching toward trouble.Polly stirred beneath my skin, her presence brushing the edges of my mind with a sense of sharpening awareness. I felt her sit up, ears flicking, eyes wide. She was quiet, alert.We’re getting closer, she whispered.I adjusted the magnesium drip, watching the machine’s readout as I turned the dial with care. It wasn’t a miracle drug, but it had bought us time earlier. Maybe it would again. Still… my gut said otherwise. So did Polly.My gaze returned to the monitors. The contractions were becoming more regular. I leaned in, double-checking the timestamps.Seven minutes apart.Damn it.The couch creaked behind me, and I turned as Andy stepped into the

Loria’s POVI woke to a room so bright it felt like morning had exploded. The overhead lights were on full, the sterile white of the walls bouncing them back into my eyes. Machines beeped steadily at my side, but it was the soft pressure of a hand on my arm that made me turn my head.Doc Hathaway was standing beside me, gloved and calm.“Loria,” she said gently, “it’s time to get the epidural going. I need you awake and alert for this.”A sharp pulse of anxiety rolled through me, but I nodded, my throat dry. Amy was already at my side, lifting the side rail and helping me scoot forward with quiet, practiced care.“We’re going to sit you on the side of the bed, okay? I’ll be in front of you. You just focus on me.” Her voice was low and soothing, hands warm against my back.Doc stepped aside to begin setting up the equipment while Andy moved to the other side of the bed, his eyes glowing faintly as he reached out a hand.“I’m going to stand right here, Loria,” he said. “If a contraction

Amy's POVThe moment the first baby slid into Doc’s hands, the room fell into a strange, suspended silence. No cry. No squirming limbs. Just stillness."I've got her," Doc said, laying the baby gently into the receiving blanket I had already opened and waiting.My hands closed instinctively around the impossibly small body. Warm, slippery, fragile. The baby couldn’t have weighed more than a pound and a half—barely the size of a zucchini.But that wasn’t what sent ice down my spine.She wasn’t crying.I turned, moving fast but careful, speed-walking to the first incubator that was already pre-warmed and ready. I lowered her onto the pad and immediately reached for a neonatal oxygen mask, but before I even placed it, I knew it wouldn’t be enough.No chest rise. No breath.I flicked her sole gently. No reaction.Rubbed her sternum with two fingers. Still nothing.Her skin was dusky, lips blue-tinged."Audrey! Get gloves! Now!" I called without looking away.My hand darted toward the suct