Draven called at six in the morning.
I knew from the first ring that something was wrong. Not because Draven called early — he called at all hours, he existed in a different relationship with time than the rest of us. But because the ring had a quality.
I have been a trauma surgeon for four years. I know what the quality of urgency sounds like in a phone ring.
I answered before the second.
"Tell me," I said.
"Sera's at Meridian General," he said.
I was already moving.
"What happened," I said.
"She woke up with pain," he said. "Lower. Significant. She didn't want to call you." His voice was doing the thing it never did — the thing under the composure, raw at the edges. "I called you."
"How far along?" I said.
"Sixteen weeks," he said.
Sixteen weeks.
I was already calculating wit
