The contractions hit like lightning, sharp and sudden, doubling me over in the damp alley behind the diner. My hands pressed into the cracked brick, breath fogging in the cold air. Nine months of hiding. Nine months of pretending my body wasn’t changing, that the whispers in my blood weren’t real. Then the moon broke free of the clouds—and everything ignited.

My skin shimmered, not with fur, but with silver light. Runes burned across my arms, ancient and pulsing. A memory tore through me: a throne room drenched in crimson, a crown placed on my brow, voices chanting 'Seris Vargen, Heir of the True Moon.'

Footsteps echoed. Heavy. Familiar. Kael’s scent—pine and iron—cut through the night. "You shouldn’t have run," he growled, stepping into view, eyes blazing gold. "That child isn’t yours to take."

I straightened, pain replaced by fire. "It never was yours to claim."

He lunged. I raised my hand—and the moon answered.