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Wicker props on his elbow, a little divot appearing between his brows. “So… what about this week?”

Since I’ve already taken out my contacts, I reach into my pocket and pull out my glasses. To my surprise, Pace opens Effie’s cage, beckoning her to hop onto a finger, and then carries her over to the bed. Without prompting, she jumps to the footboard, extending her wings as Pace shoves me over.

“Okay, here we go,” I say, thumbing through the pages. “Week fourteen of pregnancy marks a significant milestone for both the expectant mother and her developing baby. You’re experiencing a whole new set of changes. Your baby is moving their arms and legs, and is developing their senses of smell and taste.”

Wicker looks grossed out. “Does that mean she can feel it moving around in there?”

But I shake my head. “He’s still too small. She probably won’t feel movement for another few weeks.” Clearing my throat, I continue, “At this point, the fetus is approximately the size of a lemon, measuring about 3.4 inches and weighing around 1.5 ounces.”

Pace, who’s laying on his back beside me, screws his face up. “I’ll never get this obsession with comparing fetuses to fruit. Wasn’t it just a plum a couple weeks ago?”

“It’s a visibly accessible sense of scale,” I insist. “Next week will be… uh, apple.”

Wicker fluffs his pillow grumpily. “This shit is really ruining pies for me.”

Snorting, I continue, “In terms of prenatal care, week fourteen is a good time for expectant mothers to discuss various screening options and genetic testing with their healthcare provider. These tests, along with parental familial health history, can provide valuable information about the baby's health and any potential risks, allowing parents to make informed decisions about their pregnancy journey.”

A tense hush falls over the room.

In some ways, I know too much about my parents’ history, but in others, I know nothing. Looking over, I know Wicker is the same. He’s a Kayes. But what is a Kayes, exactly? No one knows. His family line is known best for being elusive and mysterious. There won’t be much medical history on them anywhere.

And Pace…

His dark eyes are distant, lost in thought.

Until suddenly, he looks at me. “Michael’s cancer.”

Shrugging helplessly, I confess, “All I’ve been told is that there weren’t any abnormal genetic markers.”

Pace exhales, which is when Danner appears, stopping in the doorway with an unblinking stare. “Boys,” he says, waddling into the room as he balances the tray with our drinks. “I’ve been searching high and low for you. Your erratic sleeping arrangements never fail to keep one on their toes.”

Frowning, I insist, “We’re not sleeping in here.”

“Of course.” Danner arches a brow before setting the tray down on the nightstand.

Pace reaches for Wicker’s first, straining over my body to hand it to him, and then mine. The three of us watch as Danner leaves, silent until the door has closed.

It’s only then that I keep reading. “Your little one is beginning to look more and more like the person you'll meet after birth. As a bonus, you may have increased energy and more lustrous hair and nails during this trimester.”

Beside me, Pace groans.

“What?” Wick asks, blue eyes flicking to him.

Scowling at the ceiling, Pace reaches down to adjust his junk. “You know how her hair does it for me. Shinier and more lustrous? I can’t take it.”

“That’s how I feel about her stomach,” I admit, leaning back as I remember gliding the ultrasound transducer over the slight swell of her belly. “I thought it’d be weird seeing her get bigger and… I don’t know. Thicker? But knowing it’s because our baby is growing in there…” I shrug, face feeling suddenly warm. “It’s hot.” Then I turn to Pace, wondering, “Isn’t it?”

He swallows. “Yeah.”

Wick pulls the sheet up over his abs. “Well, I bought her new bras because her tits were trying to wrestle their way out of the old ones.Expensiveones. You’re welcome, by the way,” he says, “since I’m not going to get to enjoy them.”

“I doubt she’s going to let me back in here,” Pace says, glancing around the room. His eyes are heavy, drooping. “Not after the fight we had in the solarium.”

“What was that about anyway?” I ask, placing my thumb in the book to hold the page.

There’s a long beat where Pace just chews on his bottom lip, a hardness to his brow that suggests he’s fighting sleep. “She asked if I was going to treat the baby like I do Effie, keeping her locked up all the time.”

“Obviously, yes.” Wicker snorts, and when Pace swings a glare on him, adds, “Come on, you’re a control freak. It’s why you’d rather sit in your room all day watching security feeds than be an actual part of the world.”