The Shadow King’s Reckoning: Blood, Betrayal, and the Awakening of a Silent Empire
The hospital corridor smelled of sterile floor wax, copper, and cold air.
It was 12:17 a.m. when my phone had vibrated against the mahogany nightstand in our quiet suburban home.
The voice on the other end was breathless, stripped of all professional detachment:
“Mr. Vance? Your wife survived. You need to come to St. Jude’s Memorial immediately.”
Survived.
The word had echoed inside my skull like a solitary gunshot in an empty canyon as I ran red lights across the sleeping city.
The rain was slicking the pavement, blurring the neon streetlights into streaks of crimson and gold.
I had left our bed empty—the side where Clara usually slept, her hand resting peacefully against the slight curve of her expanding stomach.
We were sixteen weeks along.
We had chosen the name last Sunday over pancakes: Eleanor, after her grandmother, the only person in her family who had ever shown her an ounce of warmth.
