The doorknob to my room began to slowly turn.

My hand flew to my stomach, feeling the tight, hard curve of my belly where our baby kicked in protest.

Adrian stepped in front of my bed, his broad shoulders blocking me from the door.

Miller’s hand dropped to his holster, his thumb flicking the safety off with a dry click.

The brass doorknob stopped turning.

A heavy silence filled the room, punctuated only by the wind whistling against the frosted glass of the window.

Then, the door pushed open.

A nurse in blue scrubs stood in the doorway, holding a tray of small plastic medication cups.

Her eyes went wide as she looked at Miller’s hand on his gun and Adrian’s tense stance.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, backing up a step. “I was just bringing the evening vitals check.”

“We’re fine,” Miller said, his voice flat as he slowly took his hand off his weapon. “Give us five minutes.”

She nodded quickly, pulled the door shut, and the latch clicked back into place.

Adrian didn’t relax his shoulders.

He turned his head slightly toward Miller, his eyes cold and focused.