The bell tower struck two, each chime rolling across the university grounds like a slow exhale. The sound drifted over the red-brick buildings and wide lawns, tugging students out of the nursing complex in a wave of chatter and clattering footsteps. Laughter, complaints, the rustling of bags—all of it blended into the familiar afternoon rhythm of campus life.
Eliana Bennett stepped into the flow of bodies, moving carefully, as though the world had suddenly become too sharp. Her backpack tugged at her shoulders, and one hand instinctively slipped to her belly, cradling the soft swell that had begun to make her gait a little slower, a little more deliberate. Her long curls shimmered in the London sunlight, flowing down her back in wild, glossy spirals. Her warm honey eyes darted over the walkway ahead, alert, cautious—still shadowed by the chaos of that morning. Reporters shouting her name. Phones shoved in her face. A crowd treating her life like public entertainment.
