The moment the words left Elysia's mouth—"I think my water just broke"—everything shattered.
Malvoria froze, mid-lunge toward her sister, one hand still gripping Lara's boot. Her brain, for all its capacity to plan wars and execute brutal tactics with terrifying efficiency, flatlined.
She turned slowly, the same way one might turn to face a rampaging dragon they didn't want to acknowledge.
Elysia sat there, blinking rapidly, her hands cradling her swollen belly with a stunned expression on her face. A darkening puddle pooled beneath her seat.
Malvoria dropped the boot.
"What—what does that mean?!" she demanded, as if someone had just started speaking in an ancient tongue.
"What—what do we do now? Where's—where's—Faelira! Someone get Faelira! Why are you all just standing there?!"
"Already did," Veylira said calmly, tossing a summoning crystal into the air before catching it again. "She'll be here in thirty seconds."
