The next morning, Kaelen left the estate with one of the investigation enforcers.
No convoy. No fanfare. Just a black armored vehicle rolling through the city’s lower districts, where the mafia’s influence blurred into the official healer networks. Every clinic they visited belonged either to the Family, a partner syndicate, or someone who owed blood money.
They started with the central medical registry hall—an old stone building reinforced with steel plating, guarded like a vault. Inside, elder healers kept pregnancy logs for women under the Family’s protection. Every expecting mother in the city with ties to any faction was recorded there.
By the time they reached the second facility, dusk had already settled over the city.
Inside, torchlight flickered against marble walls. The air smelled of herbs and antiseptic—clean on the surface, but underneath it carried the weight of secrets and bribes.
Kaelen stood over a long desk lined with parchment files, flipping through medical records, his expression sharp and unreadable.
Nearby, a young attendant healer adjusted a stack of scrolls and frowned.
“Sariah Anderson…” she murmured. “She missed her scheduled moon examination. It’s already overdue.”
Kaelen’s hand paused for a fraction of a second.
The name brushed something faint in his memory—like a file misfiled, not important enough to open.
He dismissed it.
Common name. Nothing flagged.
Nothing relevant.
What he didn’t know was that those records belonged to me.
The same appointment where I had gone in alone, carrying what I thought was the most fragile hope in my life.
The same visit where the healer told me my body was failing.
The attendant kept scanning the scroll.
“There was an incident three months ago tied to a poisoning case… I think she may have been linked—”
A sharp mindlink burst cut through the hall.
“Captain Ravenscar! We have a lead!”
Kaelen closed the link instantly.
“Hold the search here,” he ordered without looking up. “We move.”
He turned away.
Behind him, on the very next parchment in the stack, was my sealed registration file.
One more page.
Just one.
And everything would have cracked open.
That I was never a suspect.
That I had never betrayed anyone.
That the death of his father had nothing to do with me.
But he never turned back.
And he left.
—
That night, something was delivered to the Alpha Hall.
No guards saw it arrive.
No convoy entered the gates.
No cameras captured a single movement.
It was simply there.
A blood-smeared hide, folded neatly and placed at the center of the council floor like a calling card.
Carved into it were words written in jagged ink:
[Guess who I am? Hint: Baby doll.]
The hall went still.
Even men who had survived cartel purges and execution wars instinctively reached for their weapons.
Kaelen read it once.
Then again.
His expression hardened—not fear, not confusion.
Annoyance.
Then contempt.
He activated his mindlink stone immediately.
“Sariah.”
Silence.
He tried again, sharper.
“Sariah. Stop this.”
Nothing.
His jaw tightened.
Another message followed, colder than steel:
“You’re digging your own grave. I will never forgive this. Not ever.”
Jarek stepped forward slowly from the side.
“That doesn’t feel like her,” he said carefully. “We should—”
“Enough,” Kaelen cut in. “She’s trying to get a reaction.”
He turned away.
“I’ll check the cartel records. If she wants attention, she can get it through interrogation logs.”
But Jarek didn’t move.
Because something about the message didn’t sit right with him.
So he went himself.
Beyond the city limits. Past the controlled zones. Into the refuse belt where the Family dumped seized contraband and failed experiments.
Hours passed before they found it.
The discarded object.
Jarek crouched slowly, staring at the doll Kaelen had thrown away.
Too clean.
Too deliberate.
He turned it over.
His fingers found a seam.
A soft click.
For a second, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then—
The scent hit.
Rot. Blood. Something preserved when it shouldn’t have been.
One of the enforcers staggered back. “What the hell is that…”
The doll split open.
Inside—
A perfectly formed fetus.
Real.
Preserved.
Wrong in every possible way.
Jarek went rigid.
Then he grabbed it and ran.
—
The council hall erupted when he returned.
Kaelen was already mid-briefing when Jarek slammed the evidence onto the table.
“Stop,” Jarek said, voice shaking. “You need to see this.”
Kaelen didn’t look up. “If this is about her games—”
“It’s not a game.”
That made the room go quiet.
Jarek opened the container.
Silence dropped like a guillotine.
“A real fetus,” he said. “Preserved inside that doll. It wasn’t fake.”
Kaelen finally looked.
Just once.
And something in his expression shifted.
Not emotion.
Disruption.
“What are you saying?” he asked slowly.
Jarek held his gaze. “We can’t trace the origin yet. But tell me this, Kaelen—when was the last time you actually confirmed your mate was safe?”
The question hit harder than any bullet ever could.
Kaelen didn’t answer.
He didn’t even blink.
Because for the first time…
he didn’t have one.
The doors to the hall suddenly burst open.
A runner stumbled in, breathless, face drained of color.
“Captain Ravenscar—Captain Greyfang—there’s a woman at the gates.”
“She’s reporting a missing person.”
A pause.
Then—
“A pregnant woman.”
The runner swallowed.
“Name recorded: Sariah Anderson.”
“Missing… seven days.”
