The pink box mocks me from its perch on the bathroom counter, its cheerful packaging garish under the flickering fluorescent light.

Full. Completely, devastatingly full of tampons I never needed to use.

I sit on cold tile that bites through my thin nightgown, my back pressed against the cabinet. The grout lines dig into my palms as I stare at that box while my mind runs calculations I desperately want to fail.

Eight weeks late.

‘Eight weeks late, and you didn’t notice?’ My wolf’s voice carries no mockery now, only quiet understanding.

“I was too busy surviving to count days,” I whisper to the empty room.

The faucet drips somewhere behind me, each drop echoing against porcelain like a metronome counting down to disaster.

‘I know, sweetheart. I know exactly how hard you’ve been fighting.’

My hands press flat against the cool floor, grounding me while the math spirals through my skull with devastating precision.

Eight weeks ago puts conception during Paul’s rut. Those three days of fever and hunger and his body claiming mine over and over.

But four weeks ago, I rode Zane on a garden bench beneath trailing willow branches while crickets sang and stars witnessed my betrayal.

The timing overlaps like a cruel joke the universe is playing.

‘You don’t know whose child you’re carrying,’ my wolf says softly.

“No,” I breathe, and the word scrapes past my tight throat. “I don’t know whose baby this is.”

The bathroom tiles press cold against my spine, grounding me in physical discomfort while my mind threatens to float away entirely.

‘How does that make you feel right now?’

“Terrified beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before.”

The horror of it steals oxygen from my burning lungs, leaves my chest tight and aching with each shallow breath I manage to draw.

If this baby belongs to Paul, I carry the Alpha’s heir inside my body. A child that threatens Sarah’s position as Luna completely. A child that could destroy the peace treaty between our packs.

A child that could start a war neither side would survive intact.

‘And if it belongs to Zane instead?’ my wolf prompts gently.

“Then I carry proof of my betrayal,” I admit quietly. “Evidence that I broke the mate bond completely.”

Proof that I gave myself to Paul’s brother while his claim still burned beneath my skin.

‘Sarah called you a faithless whore before.’

“Maybe she was right about me all along.”

‘Don’t you dare believe that garbage she fed you.’

Either way, this child grows inside me as a target.

Either way, Sarah will destroy it the moment she discovers this.

Either way, I cannot stay here and survive.

‘Then you know what you have to do now.’

“I know,” I whisper, pushing myself upright on trembling legs that barely hold my weight.

The packing happens with mechanical precision borrowed from someone stronger, my movements automatic while my pulse pounds loud in my ears. My hands move without conscious direction while my mind floats somewhere distant and numb.

Prenatal vitamins from Elena’s supply cabinet go into my bag first, the plastic bottles rattling against each other with an accusatory sound that seems too loud in the predawn silence.

The cash I’ve saved over weeks disappears into a hidden pocket, the worn bills soft between my fingertips. Not much, but enough for a few days.

A change of clothes, practical and dark for traveling unseen, the fabric rough against my trembling fingers as I fold each piece with care I don’t feel.

Ricky’s phone sits heavy in my palm, fully charged and warm from the outlet. Her voice echoes through my memory: Whenever you’re ready, I’ll help you disappear completely.

‘What about Paul’s charm?’ my wolf asks quietly.

My fingers find the silver wolf pressed against my chest, warm from my body heat and smooth from how often I’ve touched it. He gave me this the night of the treaty negotiation, pressed it into my palm with fingers that lingered against mine.

I cannot leave this piece of him behind.

‘Even though you’re running from everything he represents?’

“Even though,” I confirm, tucking the charm beneath my shirt where the metal settles against my sternum.

The second letter bears Zane’s name in my unsteady script, the pen scratching against paper in the quiet room. Thanking him for gentleness I never deserved from anyone.

Inside me, a spark of life grows without my permission. Maybe Paul’s child with his pale blue eyes. Maybe Zane’s child with his easy warmth.

Definitely mine, regardless of whose seed took root.

The only thing in my entire life that belongs to me completely.

“I don’t know if running keeps us safe or just delays the inevitable.”

‘But you’re going to run anyway, aren’t you?’

“I don’t see any other choice right now.”

My packed bags wait by the window, ready for flight, their straps worn soft from years of use.

Outside my door, footsteps approach with familiar rhythm, each click of heel against hardwood sending my heart rate climbing higher.

Sarah’s heels strike the floor with predatory precision, the sound growing louder with each passing second. Too early in the morning for any innocent purpose.

‘She’s coming for you,’ my wolf warns sharply.

“I hear her,” I breathe, heart hammering against my ribs so hard I feel it in my throat.

The footsteps stop directly outside my bedroom door, and the silence that follows presses against my eardrums.

I stand frozen at the crossroads of everything I’ve ever known. A child whose paternity remains a mystery grows beneath my palms. Two brothers I’ve betrayed in different ways sleep somewhere in this packhouse.

A cousin who would kill me without hesitation breathes just beyond my door.

‘What are you going to do right now?’ my wolf demands.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit honestly to myself.

‘You have sixty seconds to figure this out completely.’

The doorknob begins to turn with agonizing slowness, the metal catching light from my window.

Climb out the window or face whatever she brings.

My hand moves toward the window latch, metal cold against my fingertips and slick with morning condensation.

‘Whatever you choose, I’m with you until the end.’

The choice I make in the next heartbeat will determine whether my child ever takes its first breath.

My fingers close around cold metal as the door begins to open, hinges creaking soft in the morning stillness.