"The blizzard shut down the eastern mountain pass entirely," Mira stated, tapping the screen of her medical tablet. "Transport time for the outside donor is now eighteen hours. Minimum."

The heart monitor beside Sienna's bed beeped in a frantic, uneven rhythm. Her skin mirrored the sterile white sheets.

"Administer the heavy stabilizing medications," I told Mira, stepping closer to the foot of the bed. "It will bridge the eighteen-hour gap until the transport arrives."

"It is a viable clinical protocol," Mira agreed, pulling a glass vial from her coat pocket.

Sienna turned her head on the thin pillow, her eyes widening in panic. "No. The last time I took that dose, the side effects were agonizing. My muscles seized. I could not shift for a month."

"What is the absolute maximum volume the doctor allows?" Carter asked.

"Carter," I started, keeping my voice low.

"Just give me the medical limit," he interrupted, his tone hardening.

I turned my back on him and walked out into the corridor. The air in the room had become entirely unbreathable. I headed toward the water dispenser near the waiting lounge, pulling a paper cup from the plastic sleeve. Eli had been sitting out here for an hour. He needed a drink.

I filled the cup and turned around.

Eli stood right behind me. Before I could hand him the water, my son dropped straight to his knees on the cold linoleum floor.

He wrapped his small arms around my legs, burying his face in my thighs.

"Mom, please," Eli sobbed, his voice echoing down the empty hall. "The baby isn't even born yet, but Sienna has been with me for so long. You have to save her."

I froze. The paper cup slipped from my fingers, splashing cold water across our shoes.

I reached down and grabbed his shoulders, hauling him up from the floor. "Eli, look at me. Who told you to say this?"

He shook his head, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. "Nobody taught me. Sienna just said she might go to sleep tonight and never wake up. And Dad said your blood is the fastest way to fix it."

I looked past my crying son.

Carter stood at the far end of the corridor. He leaned against the doorframe of Recovery Room Three. He had heard every single word. He watched our seven-year-old child place the crushing weight of an adult's survival directly onto his pregnant mother's shoulders.

Carter did not move. He did not intervene.

I grabbed Eli's hand and walked straight toward Carter. I pushed past him, opening the door to the adjacent, empty examination room.

"Get inside," I ordered Carter.

He stepped over the threshold. I slammed the door shut.

"This is the final time," I told him, pointing a finger at his chest. "I will give the exact maximum volume Mira allows. Not a fraction more. And under no circumstances will you use an Alpha command to force the needle to stay in my arm. If I feel a single cramp, if I spot one drop of blood where there shouldn't be, the draw stops immediately."

"I agree," Carter answered instantly, his shoulders dropping in massive relief. "I will sit right beside you the entire time."

"Then keep Eli out of her room," I demanded. "Keep him with me while I undergo the extraction."

Carter shifted his weight, his jaw tightening. "He is terrified, Lena. Forcing him away from her bed right now will only traumatize him more."

I stared at the man I married. He was perfectly willing to traumatize our son by letting him beg on his knees, but keeping him away from Sienna was where he drew the line.

I stopped arguing. I walked over to the metal counter and picked up the blank consent clipboard.

Mira entered the room, holding her medical bag.

"Write the maximum allowed volume at the top of this page," I told Mira, handing her the board. "Use a red pen. I want the boundary visible."

Mira uncapped a red marker and wrote the exact milliliter limit in bold, undeniable numbers across the header. Then, she turned to Carter and pointed at the door.

"Step outside, Alpha," Mira instructed. "Patient confidentiality protocol."

Carter frowned but exited the room, leaving the door cracked open an inch.

Mira set the clipboard down and leaned against the counter. "Are you doing this under Alpha command or mate coercion, Lena? Because if you say yes, I will shred this paper right now. The clinic will back your refusal, and you owe zero explanations to anyone."

"The pressure is definitely there," I admitted, staring at the red numbers. "But I am choosing to sign this."

"Why?"

"Because if I refuse, and Sienna dies tonight, my son will spend his entire life wondering why his mother did not give just a little more to save his favorite person." I picked up the black pen. "I refuse to be trapped in that narrative. Document my confirmation in the permanent file."

I signed my name on the dotted line.

I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. Carter stood by the water cooler, perfectly positioned to hear the end of our conversation. He had listened to me shoulder the entire emotional burden of this family. He offered nothing to carry the weight.

"Thank you, Lena," Carter murmured as I walked past him.

I walked into the designated donor room and sat in the reclining leather chair. Mira began preparing the sterile tubing.

Footsteps slapped against the floorboards. Eli ran into the room, clutching a braided blue string in his fist. He rushed to my side and hastily tied the rough material around my left wrist.

"Thank you for fixing her," Eli said, stepping back quickly.

I reached out and hugged his small shoulders. "Can you wait right here with me? Just until the doctor is finished."

Eli pulled out of my grip. He looked at the door, then back at me. "I promised Aunt Sienna I would be the very first person she sees when she opens her eyes."

Before I could speak, Nurse Sarah appeared in the doorway. "Alpha Carter, her blood pressure just dropped again. We need you in Room Three."

Carter kissed my forehead, a fleeting, mechanical press of lips against skin. "Listen to Mira. Be good."

He turned and followed Eli out of the room. The heavy wooden door clicked shut, sealing me inside the quiet clinic.

I looked down at the blue string on my wrist. It was a token of thanks for saving someone else, not a symbol of concern for my own safety.

Mira tied the rubber tourniquet above my elbow. She held the thick, sterilized needle in her gloved hand.

"Are we proceeding?" Mira asked quietly, her eyes searching my face.

I placed my free hand over my lower abdomen, shielding the tiny life no one else in this building seemed to remember.

"Only draw the red-ink limit," I instructed, keeping my gaze locked on the sharp steel tip as it pierced my vein. "Not a single drop more."