One week after they moved my things, I tried to go to training.
I told myself it was reasonable. I wasn't asking for my old place in the rotation. I wasn't asking for acknowledgment. I just needed to move. My wolf was restless in a way that felt different from the Moonblight fatigue — sharper, more desperate, like something clawing at the inside of a door that wouldn't open.
I walked to the training yard just after dawn. The air was cold and clean, and for a moment I let myself pretend this was normal. That I was still a pack member with a right to the yard, to the weights, to the space where wolves learned to be strong.
Gia was waiting at the entrance.
She wasn't alone. Two Gamma-ranked she-wolves stood behind her, arms crossed, expressions carefully neutral. I recognized them both — Kira and Sloane, warriors I'd sparred with before everything changed. They wouldn't look at me now.
Gia smiled. It was the kind of smile that looked warm from a distance.
"Leah." She said my name the way you'd greet someone you were surprised to see. Polite. Concerned. "Dr. Dillon mentioned you might try this."
I stopped three feet from the gate. "I'm here for training."
"I know." She tilted her head slightly, and the Luna pendant caught the early light. "But Dr. Dillon has recommended rest for your condition. The Alpha supports that recommendation. We can't have you overexerting yourself when your health is so delicate."
She said it loud enough for the warriors stretching in the yard to hear. Loud enough for it to carry.
I looked past her at the training ground. At the obstacle course I used to run. At the sparring rings where I'd held my own against wolves twice my size before the Moonblight made everything harder.
"I'm not asking for special treatment," I said quietly. "I'm asking to train."
"And I'm protecting you." Gia's voice was so reasonable it made my teeth ache. "As Luna, it's my responsibility to ensure every pack member's wellbeing. Dr. Dillon was very clear about the risks. I'm sure you understand."
Behind her, Kira shifted her weight. Sloane stared at a point just past my shoulder.
No one was going to object. No one was going to say this was wrong.
I pressed my fingertips to the side of my neck. The old habit. The empty space where a mark should have been.
Then I turned around and walked back to my room.
I didn't run. I didn't let my hands shake until the door was closed behind me.
---
The banquet was three days later.
It was a formal pack gathering — the kind Amani insisted on quarterly to maintain what she called "pack cohesion." Long tables, good food, the high-ranked wolves at the head table where Cole and Gia sat side by side like they'd been carved from the same stone.
I sat near the back with the Omegas. No one had told me to sit there. No one had to.
The meal was halfway through when Gia made a small sound and pressed a hand to her stomach.
Cole's head turned immediately. "Gia?"
"I'm fine." But her voice was thin, breathless. She stood slowly, one hand braced on the table. "Just a little—"
She collapsed.
Not hard. Not violently. Just a careful folding at the knees, controlled enough that Cole caught her before she hit the floor. Her hand stayed pressed to her stomach. Her face was pale and perfectly composed even in distress.
The hall went silent.
Dr. Dillon was already moving toward the head table, his medical bag in hand like he'd been waiting for this exact moment. He knelt beside Gia, checked her pulse, pressed his fingers to her wrist with professional efficiency.
"The pup," Gia whispered. Loud enough to carry. "Is the pup—"
"We need to move her to the healer's ward." Dillon's voice was calm, clinical. "Now."
Cole lifted her like she weighed nothing. The entire pack watched him carry her out, Dillon close behind, and I sat very still at my table and felt something cold settle in my chest.
Ten minutes later, Marcus appeared at my side.
"The Alpha requires your presence in the healer's ward," he said quietly. Not unkindly. Just factual.
I stood. I followed him.
The ward smelled like antiseptic and something metallic I couldn't name. Gia was on the main bed, propped up on pillows, one hand still resting protectively over her stomach. Cole stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder.
Dillon turned when I entered. His face was professionally neutral.
"The Luna's pup requires an immediate transfusion," he said. "Wolf essence. Rare blood type. You're the only compatible donor in the pack."
I looked at Gia. She met my eyes with an expression of quiet gratitude that made my skin crawl.
"How much?" I asked.
Dillon hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. "Two vials should stabilize—"
"She'll provide what's needed." Cole's voice cut across the room, and the Alpha tone dropped into it like a stone into deep water. Not a question. Not a request. An order that hit my wolf like a fist to the chest. "This is a pack priority. Leah understands her responsibility."
I couldn't move against the tone. Couldn't speak against it. My wolf whimpered and went still.
Dillon gestured to the extraction table in the corner. "If you'll lie down."
I lay down.
They strapped my arms. Standard procedure, Dillon said. To keep me still during the draw.
He inserted the needle. I felt the pull immediately — not just physical but something deeper, something that tugged at the thread connecting me to my wolf. The vial filled with something that glowed faintly in the dim light.
One vial.
Two.
Three.
I turned my head slightly. "You said two."
Dillon didn't look at me. He swapped out the third vial for a fourth.
"The pup's condition is more serious than initially assessed," he said to the wall.
Four.
Five.
Six.
By the time he pulled the needle out, I couldn't feel my fingers. My wolf was so quiet I had to concentrate to sense her at all — a dim flicker, a candle in a room that was slowly filling with water.
Dillon pressed gauze to my arm and finally, finally looked at me.
He looked away immediately.
"You'll need to rest," he said. "Three days minimum. I'll have meals sent to your room."
Cole was already helping Gia sit up. She was smiling. Color returning to her cheeks. The picture of health.
"Thank you, Leah," she said softly. "You may have just saved our pup's life."
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Marcus helped me back to my room. I don't remember the walk.
I lay down. I faced the window.
And I waited for my wolf to come back.
