"Julian."
His mother's voice had taken on a different quality now. Not commanding. Not the boardroom register she used when she needed people to move. Something closer to gentle, or as close to gentle as Madam Vale had ever learned to get, which was still firmer than most people's firmness, but the intention was there.
"Come," she said. "Come and see them."
Julian didn't move immediately. He was still in the chair beside Amara's bed, still holding the hand that was warm now, warmer than it had been, the colour slowly, stubbornly returning, and the idea of putting that hand down, of walking away from this room even for five minutes, felt like something his body was not ready to negotiate.
"Julian." Again. Quieter. "She is stable. The nurses are here. Nothing will happen in ten minutes."
He looked at Amara's face. She was still unconscious. Still hooked to the machines that beeped and breathed and monitored her back toward herself.
