The calendar alert sounds through the studio monitors at full volume.

LYRA — 12 WEEK SCAN — 9:30

Damon reaches the console too late. His hand remains above the mute switch while the last echo fades among guitars and coiled cables.

"I was going to tell you tonight." He closes his eyes, then forces himself to meet your gaze. "The baby is mine. I have known for six weeks."

Shame tightens his face. Under it, unmistakably, is hope.

"I want to be there for the child. I do not know what that means for us, and I should have asked before I started building an answer without you."