The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate (Jason and Laila) by Caroline Above Story novel Chapter 30

Jason's POV

The chart slipped.

My fingers wouldn't cooperate—trembling traitors. That manila folder might as well have been coated in oil. March 15 screamed up at me from the floor. Marcus had dug that date out from where it was buried somewhere in Laila's medical files. The day Laila went into labor. Then nothing. Wiped clean from every hospital system like she'd never existed.

Down I went. I had to pick it up. Read it one more time because surely I'd gotten something wrong.

Patient name: Ava Harper. Date of birth: March 15.

Six years back.

The kid lay sleeping in her hospital bed, chest doing that peaceful rise-and-fall thing only children manage. Green eyes tucked away behind lids so delicate you'd think someone painted them there.

My throat squeezed shut. Breathing took actual effort.

Was any of this actually happening? Maybe I'd finally snapped. Guilt does weird things after six years—twists your brain until you're seeing patterns in static. Grabbing at ghosts. Building bridges between coincidences because facing the alternative hurt worse than anything.

Those eyes, though. Ava's eyes haunted me.

It took me three tries to get the chart back on its hook. Nearly fumbled it twice. The paper felt strange in my hands. Heavy with secrets that could blow up everything I thought I knew.

My brain was yelling at me to leave. I had to get out before I woke this child and started demanding answers she couldn't possibly give.

The brightness of the hallway smacked me like a physical thing—fluorescent lights blinding and droning overhead with that particular high-pitched frequency that drills into your skull. Some nurse stared at me. Probably figured the Alpha had seen something terrible. She wouldn't be wrong. My hair stuck out in every direction from running my hands through it, my shirt looked like I'd slept in it for days, and my eyes probably revealed too much.

My feet moved without permission. No destination. Didn't matter.

Something clawed beneath my ribs. My wolf, howling at me to turn around. Protect that little girl who might be—

No. I can’t think about that.

But March 15th. Timing too precise. Too deliberate to dismiss as random chance.

And Ava's eyes. Green with gold flecks matching my own.

I found myself pacing outside the pediatric wing like something wild and caged. Nurses kept their distance. They sensed the chaos barely contained under my skin.

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