The first time I felt it, I thought nothing of it. Just a strange twist in my stomach, a sharp enough pang that made me falter for a second. Carlos and I were sparring, his gaze fixed, unrelenting, as he closed the distance between us. His moves were as fluid as ever, every hit calculated, forcing me to focus, to match him step for step. But then, mid-step, a cramp rippled through me, forcing me to pause.
I winced, my hand drifting toward my stomach, just as his fist came sailing toward me. I barely had time to dodge, missing his swing by a hair.
Carlos dropped his stance, looking at me with a frown. "Are you alright?"
I forced a smile, determined to brush it off. "Must've been a bad breakfast," I said, laughing it off as I straightened.
Carlos's gaze lingered on me, his expression tightening with concern. I expected him to press, to ask again, but after a moment, he simply nodded, returning to his stance. The rest of the session, I pretended nothing was wrong. I ducked and moved as if my stomach didn't twist painfully with every step, and whenever Carlos's gaze flickered toward me, I forced a smile.
I hoped that would be the end of it, a fleeting discomfort. But the next morning, it returned, and by the time a few more days passed, it was impossible to ignore.
The cramps struck at random times, always sharp, relentless, catching me off guard whether I was walking down the hall or in the middle of training. Every time it hit, I'd clutch my side, biting down the discomfort, brushing it off as fatigue or hunger. But as the days dragged on, it became harder to pretend.
By the fourth day, the pain had settled into a persistent ache. I woke up with a wave of nausea so strong it left me dizzy, and even standing felt like a battle. I tried to push myself out of bed, but as soon as I put weight on my legs, my knees buckled.
I steadied myself against the bedpost, feeling the room sway around me. Before I knew it, Gabriel appeared at my door, his expression darkening as he took in my pale face.
"Lilith," he said, a mix of worry and caution in his voice. "You don't look well. Maybe you should tell Carlos."
"I'm fine," I forced out, though the dizziness made it hard to keep my balance. "Just... haven't been sleeping well, that's all."
He helped me sit on the edge of the bed, his hand firm but gentle on my shoulder. I could see the hesitation in his eyes, the unasked questions, but he nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. Once I managed to steady my breathing, I gave him a weak smile, hoping it would ease his worry.
But that night, the discomfort turned into full-blown pain. I tossed and turned, every twist of my stomach making it impossible to sleep. By the time the sun rose, I'd barely gotten an hour of rest, and as I climbed out of bed, a wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to bolt for the bathroom.
Leaning over the sink, I clung to the edges, my knuckles white as I tried to steady myself. The dizziness was worse than ever, and my stomach churned relentlessly. I kept my head down, breathing slowly, waiting for the wave to pass, but the thought kept nagging at the back of my mind, an uneasy suspicion that made my stomach twist even more.
Something felt wrong.
When I finally regained my balance, I made my way back to the bedroom, my mind racing. It didn't make sense. I wasn't sick; at least, it didn't feel like any sickness I'd had before. The idea gnawed at me, something I didn't want to confront. I needed to know, to be sure, but Carlos couldn't know about it. Not yet.
Once I caught my breath, I called out for Gabriel, my voice barely above a whisper. Within seconds, I heard his footsteps, and he appeared in the doorway, his expression darkening with worry as he looked at me.
