But the baby made a faint sound against his coat, and Adrian crossed the room.

Hannah carried the child into the tiny office behind the kitchen. The room smelled of cinnamon, yeast, and bread cooling on metal racks. She sat in an old wooden chair and carefully settled him in her arms.

“What’s his name?”

“Lucas.”

“Hello, Lucas,” Hannah whispered. “You don’t know me, sweetheart, but I need you to try.”

Lucas didn’t respond. Hannah brushed a finger along his cheek; his skin felt frighteningly cool. She looked toward the doorway, where a silver-haired pediatrician stood beside Adrian.

“How long since he ate?”

“Almost three days without a proper feeding,” Dr. Samuel Bennett answered. “We’ve kept him hydrated, but he refuses every bottle.”

Hannah’s heart pounded. “Come on,” she murmured. “Just a little.”

Lucas turned weakly toward her. Then he latched.

The first sound was so soft Adrian almost missed it — a tiny, steady rhythm filling the silent office. Lucas was drinking.

Dr. Bennett exhaled slowly. One of Adrian’s guards lowered his head. Another turned away, as though he’d accidentally witnessed something private. Adrian stayed frozen in the doorway while Hannah bent over his son, tears slipping down her cheeks as she held Lucas with all the tenderness she’d been unable to give Grace.