I woke on the third day to the sound of someone at my door.
Not knocking. Scratching. Quiet and deliberate, like whoever it was didn't want to be heard by anyone passing in the hall.
I sat up slowly. My arms still ached where the needles had been. My wolf was there — barely, a flicker so faint I had to concentrate to feel her at all — but she was quiet in a way that felt permanent. Like she'd used up all her fight just staying alive.
The scratching stopped. A folded piece of paper slid under the door.
I waited until I heard footsteps retreat down the hall before I moved. Then I crossed the room, picked up the paper, and unfolded it.
The handwriting was careful, each letter formed with the precision of someone who didn't write often.
*They're planning another extraction. One month. Gia told Maren it worked better than expected. Said another round should finish the job.*
*I'm sorry. I thought you should know.*
*— S.*
Sera. The Omega who still brought me food sometimes. Who still met my eyes in the hall when no one else would.
I read the note twice. Then I folded it back along its creases and tucked it into the drawer beside my rejection papers.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed my fingertips to the side of my neck. The empty space. The scar that had never been a mark.
Finish the job.
I understood now. I had been slow — too tired, too sick, too willing to believe that some part of Cole still remembered the boy who had fought for me. But I understood.
They were going to bleed me dry. Slowly. Carefully. Just enough each time to keep me alive for the next extraction. Until there was nothing left.
Until my wolf went silent for good.
I sat there until the sun moved across the floor. Then I stood up and started planning.
---
Two weeks later, Dr. Dillon called me back to the healer's ward.
I knew before he said it. I'd felt it in my wolf — the way she'd grown quieter each day, the way shifting hurt now in places it had never hurt before. The way I woke up tired and went to bed exhausted and the space in between was just a slow bleed I couldn't stop.
Dillon didn't make me sit. He stood behind his desk with a folder open in front of him, and he delivered the news in the same flat, clinical tone he'd used to tell me I was compatible for the extraction.
"Your Moonblight has relapsed," he said. "The degeneration is accelerating. Based on current progression, your wolf has months. Perhaps less."
I stood very still.
"I'm recommending increased treatment sessions," he continued. He still wasn't looking at me. "You'll need to remain at Ironcliff indefinitely. We'll require regular wolf-essence extractions for monitoring purposes. It's the best chance we have of slowing the progression."
Monitoring purposes.
I almost laughed. I didn't.
"How regular?" I asked.
He hesitated. Just a fraction. "Monthly. Possibly more frequently depending on your response to treatment."
Monthly extractions. Just like Sera's note had said.
Finish the job.
I looked at him — really looked, for the first time in weeks. At the way his hands were too still on the desk. At the way his jaw was set like he was bracing against something. At the way he'd positioned himself with the desk between us like a barrier.
He knew.
He knew exactly what he was doing to me, and he was going to keep doing it because someone was paying him to.
"Thank you for the consultation, Dr. Dillon," I said quietly.
I walked out before he could say anything else.
I made it back to my room. I locked the door. I sat on the floor with my back against the drawer that held my rejection papers and Sera's note, and I let myself understand, for the first time, that I was not meant to survive this.
They were going to keep me alive just long enough to bleed me empty. Then they were going to let me die.
And no one was going to stop them.
I sat there until my hands stopped shaking.
Then I stood up. I unlocked the drawer. I took out the rejection papers.
And I went to see Amani.
---
The former Luna's sitting room smelled like lavender and old wood. She was at her desk when I entered, reviewing what looked like pack financial reports. She didn't look up immediately.
"Leah." She set down her pen with deliberate precision. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I have a proposal," I said.
I set the rejection papers on her desk. Smooth. Neat. The same way I'd set the medication folder on Cole's desk weeks ago.
Amani looked at the papers. Then at me.
I didn't sit. I didn't wait for permission to speak.
"I'll forfeit everything," I said. "Luna title. Settlement rights. Pack protections. Everything a rejected fated mate is entitled to under pack law. I'll sign whatever documents you need. I'll leave quietly. I won't contest anything."
Her expression didn't change. "In exchange for?"
"Get Cole to sign the rejection." My voice was steady. Quieter than I'd expected. "Let me go. That's all I'm asking."
Amani leaned back in her chair. She studied me with the same assessing look she'd given me the first time Cole had brought me to the pack house — the look that measured worth and found it wanting.
"You're dying," she said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"And you want to die free."
I met her eyes. "Yes."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she picked up the rejection papers and read through them with the careful attention of someone reviewing a contract.
"This is administratively convenient," she said finally. "It legitimizes Gia's heir. Removes the complication of a living fated mate. Simplifies the succession."
She wasn't talking to me. She was talking through the logistics.
She set the papers down and looked at me again.
"I'll fast-track the bond-severance paperwork," she said. "You'll have your rejection within two weeks. But the moment those papers are signed, you leave Ironcliff territory and you don't come back. No appeals. No contact. No claims on this pack or anyone in it. Are we clear?"
"Yes," I said.
She nodded once. Dismissive. Final.
I turned to leave.
"Leah."
I stopped.
Amani's voice was quieter now. Almost thoughtful. "You were never strong enough for this pack. You understand that, don't you?"
I pressed my fingertips to the side of my neck. The empty space.
"I understand," I said.
Then I walked out.
I went back to my room. I lay down. I faced the window.
And I waited for the paperwork that would set me free.
