Shield | The Jackson's

Prologue - Fifteen Minutes Older

The room was already too loud when the first baby arrived.

Not with celebration, at least not yet, but with the kind of noise that gathered when too many people waited too long in a space that felt too small. Voices overlapped without direction. Shoes scraped against linoleum. Somewhere near the wall, a machine hummed steadily, its sound vibrating through the floor and into the bones. The air felt thick, heavy with heat, breath, and anticipation, as though it had already been used up before anything had truly begun.

Katherine's fingers tightened around the metal rail of the bed.

"I can't, Joe."

"You can," Joseph said at once, leaning forward, his voice sharp with certainty. "You're right there."

A nurse murmured reassurance, her tone smooth and practiced, while the doctor glanced at the clock and then back at Katherine. "One more push," he said. "You've got it."

Katherine did not answer. Her face was pale and damp with sweat, her eyes squeezed shut as though she could block out everything except the pressure building inside her. Her breathing came in uneven bursts, each one shorter than the last.

Joseph stood at the foot of the bed, hands
braced against the frame. His jaw was tight, his shoulders squared. He did not look at Katherine. He watched the doctor, the nurses, the space where something was about to happen, as if attention alone might control the outcome.

"Now," the doctor said.

The cry came sharp and sudden, cutting through the room without warning. It was high and brief, urgent in a way that demanded to be heard.

Then it stopped.

The pause that followed was immediate and complete. The nurse froze mid motion. The doctor stilled. Even the mechanical hum seemed to soften. Joseph leaned forward without realizing he had moved, his fingers curling tighter around the rail.

For a suspended moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then the baby opened his eyes.

They were dark and wide, focused in a way newborn eyes rarely were. He did not thrash or cry again. His lips trembled as though another sound might come, then settled. He stared past the hands holding him, past Katherine's breathless relief, following movement instead. The shift of light. The turn of a shoulder. The sound of footsteps crossing the floor.

When Joseph shifted his weight, the baby's gaze followed.

The doctor checked the clock. "Four twelve."

Joseph nodded once, already committing the time to memory.

Katherine reached out, her arms trembling as the nurse placed the baby against her chest. His body relaxed almost immediately, tension draining from his small limbs as warmth met warmth. He made a soft sound, not quite a cry and not quite comfort, something closer to acknowledgment, as though he were registering where he had landed.

"My Evan," Katherine whispered, tears breaking free at last. "You're here."

She pressed her forehead gently against his.

Joseph watched the clock.

Fifteen minutes passed like a breath held too long.

Katherine had barely settled when the next contraction hit. Her fingers tightened again. Her breath caught sharply as she shook her head. "No," she whispered. "Not yet."

"It's happening," the nurse said, already moving closer. "You're doing fine."

Joseph did not look away this time either.