Doctor Avery had never seen anything unusual about the case. Logan’s vitals were stable. His brain activity barely flickered. The case felt tragic, but unremarkable from a neurological standpoint. That was why the first announcement felt like coincidence rather than omen. A nurse named Tessa Monroe requested a meeting and informed him she was pregnant after years of infertility. When he congratulated her, she seemed startled.

“I do not understand how it is possible,” she whispered, clasping her hands together so tightly her knuckles turned white. “My husband and I have been trying for a decade. Our specialists told us it could not happen. Something changed after I began my night rotation with Mr. Price. It feels connected, even though I know that makes no sense.”

Conrad offered what comfort he could and insisted that coincidences did occur. He documented her emotional distress and thought little more about it. Two months later, Jeanine Porter, another night nurse assigned to Logan, requested a private meeting with the same news. She was visibly shaken.

“It cannot be chance,” she insisted, voice trembling. “I am not involved with anyone. I know how it sounds, but I feel as though something is wrong and I do not know how to say it without sounding irrational.”

By the time the third nurse, Brielle Summers, arrived with swollen eyes and a positive test in her shaking hand, Conrad could no longer pretend the situation did not demand scrutiny. Three pregnancies connected by nothing except their assignment to the same comatose patient. Three sets of medical charts indicating circumstances that defied ordinary explanation. He began reviewing security logs, badge scans, anything that might reveal unauthorized access to Room 614. He found nothing. The room appeared undisturbed each time he checked, still and lifeless, with Logan lying under crisp white sheets.

The hospital board summoned him for an emergency meeting when the fourth pregnancy was reported. The members spoke in low voices, each sentence laced with anxiety. The chairwoman, Katherine Bell, leaned forward.

“We cannot allow gossip to grow. If this escalates, we risk a press frenzy. This hospital’s reputation is at stake. You will investigate quietly and give us answers grounded in science.”

Conrad promised to do so, although his confidence felt shaken. He spent nights combing through case studies and obscure journals, searching for precedents involving neurological conditions that triggered bizarre hormonal effects in caregivers. He found nothing credible. The words supernatural conception appeared in fringe material, but he dismissed them as sensationalized nonsense.

When the fifth nurse, Marina Foster, visited with trembling lips and said she was frightened to sleep, Conrad felt something cold unravel inside him, like a cable snapping in the dark.

“I do not feel alone when I sit with him,” Marina whispered. “Sometimes I feel watched. Sometimes I feel something brush past me, although nothing is there. I know how absurd it sounds. I am sorry.”