The digital clock on the wall above the nurse’s station flickered.

11:59:58.

The heavy, rhythmic hum of the building’s ventilation system suddenly changed pitch.

The low vibration in the floorboards died.

11:59:59.

The air grew thick and silent.

Rowan squeezed my hand so hard the bones popped.

“Brace,” he whispered.

12:00:00.

The light died instantly.

Not a slow fade, but a sudden, violent drop into absolute black.

The quiet, rhythmic hum of Clara’s incubator cut out, leaving a silence so heavy it felt physical.

Beside me, Rowan did not hesitate.

His hand tore away from mine, the sudden movement causing a rush of cold air against my skin.

“What happened?” Tessa’s voice shrilled from the dark, her usual composure cracking into sharp panic.

“Power’s down,” a guard shouted. “Emergency backups aren’t engaging.”

“Find the manual switches!” she screamed.

A heavy, wet thud echoed through the dark, followed immediately by the sound of a body hitting the linoleum floor.

Rowan was moving.

I could not see him, but I knew the precise, lethal economy of his movements from the stories Marcus used to tell me.