Page 142 of Anchor
She closed her eyes. Even before the sound of his cane against the hardwood reached her, she already felt the shift. Something was wrong. She felt the baby swivel. Somehow—the baby knew it too.
Her words were clipped,tight around the edges. Reid moved faster than he should’ve. His gait had improved, the cane more of a guide now than a crutch, but his muscles still burned when he pushed them. He didn’t care. Claire’s voice had triggered something in his chest that overrode rehab timelines.
The door clicked open as he reached it. She was sitting upright on the bed, eyes sharp, one hand on her belly, the other still gripping the intercom remote like she hadn’t noticed she was doing it.
“Claire?” He stepped close.
She looked up and met his eyes instantly. “My phone vibrated, but no one was there. Something isn’t right.”
It was instinct. Like the moment before a breach. The ethereal edge of knowing something was off without the luxury of evidence. Reid crossed to her quickly and dropped to one knee beside the bed, ignoring the pull in his side.
Her hand moved to his. “I don’t know what it is,” she whispered. “But it’s close.”
Before he could respond, the lights dimmed for half a second. The backup grid kicked in instantly. Nothing shut off, no alarms blared, but Reid’s jaw clenched.
Claire’s other hand had already gone to the tablet on her nightstand. The comms were lighting up.
“Perimeter interference. Sector 4.”
“Signal bounce. Unknown echo. Verifying…”
Reid stood in one motion, already hitting the call button. “All units: confirm status. Lock Suites B and C now. Find Seth and Tuck. Have them report. Claire doesn’t move without a medical team and my order.”
Claire reached for the blanket again. “This is it, isn’t it?”
He nodded once. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think Vos just knocked.”
The rain had stopped,but the dread hadn’t. Reid stood by the reinforced window, his shoulders rigid. The Denver skyline blinked faintly below, muted by low fog, but the perimeter lights were too steady, too staged. It felt wrong.
Behind him, Claire lay reclined in the custom medical bed. Her skin was pale against the bedding. Monitors pulsed faint light across her arm, belly, chest. Every wire was a tether he hated and wouldn’t trade for anything. She wasn’t supposed to move, not with complete placenta previa and bleeding. Her hand was resting protectively on her bump.
“I don’t like this silence.” His voice was gravel-edged.
She didn’t look at him at first. “I don’t like being helpless.”
“You’re not helpless.” He came to her side, crouching despite the sting in his knees. “You’re carrying both of us.”
Claire’s face was composed, but there was something fraying beneath it. “I heard Torch’s call. They’re sweeping again.”
Reid nodded once. “There’s no confirmed breach.”
“But there’s fear,” she whispered.
His jaw clenched. “Only mine, not yours. Never yours.” He brushed a loose strand of hair from her temple, his fingers barely trembling.
She closed her eyes at his touch. “When I collapsed,” she said, barely audible, “I thought he already had me.”
Reid didn’t respond for a moment. His silence was raw, rough. “You made it,” he said at last, brushing her fingers against his lips gently. “You’re still here, and so is she.”
“The baby moved today,” she whispered. “But I can’t feel her now.”
Reid’s hand pressed to her belly. He waited… and there, a faint flutter. A low breath of life against his palm. “Our baby’s in there. Listening.”
Claire’s voice cracked. “I just want to make it to term.”
“You will,” he said, steel underneath the softness. “And Vos’ll never get close to you or to our child.”
The comm pinged faintly. Torch again: “Outer sweep holding. Shifted west. Nothing yet. Continuing the pass.”
