One week after they moved my things, I tried to go to training.

I told myself it was reasonable. I wasn't asking for my old place in the rotation. I wasn't asking for acknowledgment. I just needed to move. My wolf was restless in a way that felt different from the Moonblight fatigue — sharper, more desperate, like something clawing at the inside of a door that wouldn't open.

I walked to the training yard just after dawn. The air was cold and clean, and for a moment I let myself pretend this was normal. That I was still a pack member with a right to the yard, to the weights, to the space where wolves learned to be strong.

Gia was waiting at the entrance.

She wasn't alone. Two Gamma-ranked she-wolves stood behind her, arms crossed, expressions carefully neutral. I recognized them both — Kira and Sloane, warriors I'd sparred with before everything changed. They wouldn't look at me now.

Gia smiled. It was the kind of smile that looked warm from a distance.

"Leah." She said my name the way you'd greet someone you were surprised to see. Polite. Concerned. "Dr. Dillon mentioned you might try this."

I stopped three feet from the gate. "I'm here for training."

"I know." She tilted her head slightly, and the Luna pendant caught the early light. "But Dr. Dillon has recommended rest for your condition. The Alpha supports that recommendation. We can't have you overexerting yourself when your health is so delicate."

She said it loud enough for the warriors stretching in the yard to hear. Loud enough for it to carry.

I looked past her at the training ground. At the obstacle course I used to run. At the sparring rings where I'd held my own against wolves twice my size before the Moonblight made everything harder.

"I'm not asking for special treatment," I said quietly. "I'm asking to train."

"And I'm protecting you." Gia's voice was so reasonable it made my teeth ache. "As Luna, it's my responsibility to ensure every pack member's wellbeing. Dr. Dillon was very clear about the risks. I'm sure you understand."

Behind her, Kira shifted her weight. Sloane stared at a point just past my shoulder.

No one was going to object. No one was going to say this was wrong.

I pressed my fingertips to the side of my neck. The old habit. The empty space where a mark should have been.

Then I turned around and walked back to my room.

I didn't run. I didn't let my hands shake until the door was closed behind me.

---

The banquet was three days later.

It was a formal pack gathering — the kind Amani insisted on quarterly to maintain what she called "pack cohesion." Long tables, good food, the high-ranked wolves at the head table where Cole and Gia sat side by side like they'd been carved from the same stone.

I sat near the back with the Omegas. No one had told me to sit there. No one had to.

The meal was halfway through when Gia made a small sound and pressed a hand to her stomach.

Cole's head turned immediately. "Gia?"

"I'm fine." But her voice was thin, breathless. She stood slowly, one hand braced on the table. "Just a little—"

She collapsed.

Not hard. Not violently. Just a careful folding at the knees, controlled enough that Cole caught her before she hit the floor. Her hand stayed pressed to her stomach. Her face was pale and perfectly composed even in distress.

The hall went silent.

Dr. Dillon was already moving toward the head table, his medical bag in hand like he'd been waiting for this exact moment. He knelt beside Gia, checked her pulse, pressed his fingers to her wrist with professional efficiency.

"The pup," Gia whispered. Loud enough to carry. "Is the pup—"

"We need to move her to the healer's ward." Dillon's voice was calm, clinical. "Now."

Cole lifted her like she weighed nothing. The entire pack watched him carry her out, Dillon close behind, and I sat very still at my table and felt something cold settle in my chest.

Ten minutes later, Marcus appeared at my side.

"The Alpha requires your presence in the healer's ward," he said quietly. Not unkindly. Just factual.

I stood. I followed him.

The ward smelled like antiseptic and something metallic I couldn't name. Gia was on the main bed, propped up on pillows, one hand still resting protectively over her stomach. Cole stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

Dillon turned when I entered. His face was professionally neutral.

"The Luna's pup requires an immediate transfusion," he said. "Wolf essence. Rare blood type. You're the only compatible donor in the pack."

I looked at Gia. She met my eyes with an expression of quiet gratitude that made my skin crawl.

"How much?" I asked.

Dillon hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. "Two vials should stabilize—"

"She'll provide what's needed." Cole's voice cut across the room, and the Alpha tone dropped into it like a stone into deep water. Not a question. Not a request. An order that hit my wolf like a fist to the chest. "This is a pack priority. Leah understands her responsibility."

I couldn't move against the tone. Couldn't speak against it. My wolf whimpered and went still.

Dillon gestured to the extraction table in the corner. "If you'll lie down."

I lay down.

They strapped my arms. Standard procedure, Dillon said. To keep me still during the draw.

He inserted the needle. I felt the pull immediately — not just physical but something deeper, something that tugged at the thread connecting me to my wolf. The vial filled with something that glowed faintly in the dim light.

One vial.

Two.

Three.

I turned my head slightly. "You said two."

Dillon didn't look at me. He swapped out the third vial for a fourth.

"The pup's condition is more serious than initially assessed," he said to the wall.

Four.

Five.

Six.

By the time he pulled the needle out, I couldn't feel my fingers. My wolf was so quiet I had to concentrate to sense her at all — a dim flicker, a candle in a room that was slowly filling with water.

Dillon pressed gauze to my arm and finally, finally looked at me.

He looked away immediately.

"You'll need to rest," he said. "Three days minimum. I'll have meals sent to your room."

Cole was already helping Gia sit up. She was smiling. Color returning to her cheeks. The picture of health.

"Thank you, Leah," she said softly. "You may have just saved our pup's life."

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

Marcus helped me back to my room. I don't remember the walk.

I lay down. I faced the window.

And I waited for my wolf to come back.

I woke on the third day to the sound of someone at my door.

Not knocking. Scratching. Quiet and deliberate, like whoever it was didn't want to be heard by anyone passing in the hall.

I sat up slowly. My arms still ached where the needles had been. My wolf was there — barely, a flicker so faint I had to concentrate to feel her at all — but she was quiet in a way that felt permanent. Like she'd used up all her fight just staying alive.

The scratching stopped. A folded piece of paper slid under the door.

I waited until I heard footsteps retreat down the hall before I moved. Then I crossed the room, picked up the paper, and unfolded it.

The handwriting was careful, each letter formed with the precision of someone who didn't write often.

*They're planning another extraction. One month. Gia told Maren it worked better than expected. Said another round should finish the job.*

*I'm sorry. I thought you should know.*

*— S.*

Sera. The Omega who still brought me food sometimes. Who still met my eyes in the hall when no one else would.

I read the note twice. Then I folded it back along its creases and tucked it into the drawer beside my rejection papers.

I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed my fingertips to the side of my neck. The empty space. The scar that had never been a mark.

Finish the job.

I understood now. I had been slow — too tired, too sick, too willing to believe that some part of Cole still remembered the boy who had fought for me. But I understood.

They were going to bleed me dry. Slowly. Carefully. Just enough each time to keep me alive for the next extraction. Until there was nothing left.

Until my wolf went silent for good.

I sat there until the sun moved across the floor. Then I stood up and started planning.

---

Two weeks later, Dr. Dillon called me back to the healer's ward.

I knew before he said it. I'd felt it in my wolf — the way she'd grown quieter each day, the way shifting hurt now in places it had never hurt before. The way I woke up tired and went to bed exhausted and the space in between was just a slow bleed I couldn't stop.

Dillon didn't make me sit. He stood behind his desk with a folder open in front of him, and he delivered the news in the same flat, clinical tone he'd used to tell me I was compatible for the extraction.

"Your Moonblight has relapsed," he said. "The degeneration is accelerating. Based on current progression, your wolf has months. Perhaps less."

I stood very still.

"I'm recommending increased treatment sessions," he continued. He still wasn't looking at me. "You'll need to remain at Ironcliff indefinitely. We'll require regular wolf-essence extractions for monitoring purposes. It's the best chance we have of slowing the progression."

Monitoring purposes.

I almost laughed. I didn't.

"How regular?" I asked.

He hesitated. Just a fraction. "Monthly. Possibly more frequently depending on your response to treatment."

Monthly extractions. Just like Sera's note had said.

Finish the job.

I looked at him — really looked, for the first time in weeks. At the way his hands were too still on the desk. At the way his jaw was set like he was bracing against something. At the way he'd positioned himself with the desk between us like a barrier.

He knew.

He knew exactly what he was doing to me, and he was going to keep doing it because someone was paying him to.

"Thank you for the consultation, Dr. Dillon," I said quietly.

I walked out before he could say anything else.

I made it back to my room. I locked the door. I sat on the floor with my back against the drawer that held my rejection papers and Sera's note, and I let myself understand, for the first time, that I was not meant to survive this.

They were going to keep me alive just long enough to bleed me empty. Then they were going to let me die.

And no one was going to stop them.

I sat there until my hands stopped shaking.

Then I stood up. I unlocked the drawer. I took out the rejection papers.

And I went to see Amani.

---

The former Luna's sitting room smelled like lavender and old wood. She was at her desk when I entered, reviewing what looked like pack financial reports. She didn't look up immediately.

"Leah." She set down her pen with deliberate precision. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I have a proposal," I said.

I set the rejection papers on her desk. Smooth. Neat. The same way I'd set the medication folder on Cole's desk weeks ago.

Amani looked at the papers. Then at me.

I didn't sit. I didn't wait for permission to speak.

"I'll forfeit everything," I said. "Luna title. Settlement rights. Pack protections. Everything a rejected fated mate is entitled to under pack law. I'll sign whatever documents you need. I'll leave quietly. I won't contest anything."

Her expression didn't change. "In exchange for?"

"Get Cole to sign the rejection." My voice was steady. Quieter than I'd expected. "Let me go. That's all I'm asking."

Amani leaned back in her chair. She studied me with the same assessing look she'd given me the first time Cole had brought me to the pack house — the look that measured worth and found it wanting.

"You're dying," she said. Not a question.

"Yes."

"And you want to die free."

I met her eyes. "Yes."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then she picked up the rejection papers and read through them with the careful attention of someone reviewing a contract.

"This is administratively convenient," she said finally. "It legitimizes Gia's heir. Removes the complication of a living fated mate. Simplifies the succession."

She wasn't talking to me. She was talking through the logistics.

She set the papers down and looked at me again.

"I'll fast-track the bond-severance paperwork," she said. "You'll have your rejection within two weeks. But the moment those papers are signed, you leave Ironcliff territory and you don't come back. No appeals. No contact. No claims on this pack or anyone in it. Are we clear?"

"Yes," I said.

She nodded once. Dismissive. Final.

I turned to leave.

"Leah."

I stopped.

Amani's voice was quieter now. Almost thoughtful. "You were never strong enough for this pack. You understand that, don't you?"

I pressed my fingertips to the side of my neck. The empty space.

"I understand," I said.

Then I walked out.

I went back to my room. I lay down. I faced the window.

And I waited for the paperwork that would set me free.

The summons came two days after I left Amani's sitting room.

Marcus delivered it. He stood in my doorway with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes fixed on a point just past my shoulder. Professional. Distant. The way you look at someone who used to matter and doesn't anymore.

"The Alpha requires your presence in his office," he said. "Now."

I didn't ask why. I already knew.

I followed him through the pack house in silence. The halls were emptier than usual — most of the pack was at training or patrol — but the few wolves we passed stopped what they were doing to watch. No one spoke. No one nodded. They just looked.

Marcus stopped outside Cole's office and gestured to the door. He didn't follow me in.

Cole was behind his desk. Not standing. Not pacing. Just sitting with his hands folded on the polished wood surface, his posture so controlled it looked rehearsed. Gia wasn't there. The Luna pendant wasn't glinting in the light. It was just him and me and the silence between us.

He didn't tell me to sit.

"My mother informed me of your conversation," he said. His voice was measured. Calm. The tone of an Alpha closing a negotiation he'd already won. "She fast-tracked the severance paperwork. Very efficient of her."

I stood three feet from his desk and said nothing.

"I won't be signing it," he continued. He said it the way you'd mention the weather. Factual. Unremarkable. "Regardless of what agreement you reached with Amani, the bond remains a pack resource. Your wolf's continued existence — however weakened — sustains my aura. Severs my connection to you, and the pack suffers. I'm sure you understand."

I pressed my fingertips to the side of my neck. The empty space.

"You're dying anyway," he said. Not cruel. Just practical. "Dr. Dillon's prognosis is clear. The rejection would only accelerate the process. I'm protecting you by keeping the bond intact. You'll have access to the best care Ironcliff can provide. You'll be comfortable. That's more than most wolves in your condition could hope for."

He leaned back slightly in his chair. Relaxed. A man who had considered all variables and arrived at the only logical conclusion.

"The matter is closed, Leah."

I looked at him. Really looked. At the face I used to trace with my fingertips in the dark. At the mouth that used to say my name like a prayer. At the eyes that had once held nothing but me.

There was nothing left in them now but calculation.

I didn't argue. I didn't beg. I didn't ask him if he remembered the boy who had fought his way into this pack with bloody knuckles and my name in his chest.

I just turned around and walked out.

I stopped in the hallway outside his door. Stood motionless. Counted to ten in my head while my wolf made a sound so small and broken I almost couldn't feel it.

Then I kept walking.

---

I started preparing that night.

Small things. Quiet things. The kind of movements that wouldn't draw attention from the Omegas who delivered my meals or the patrols that passed my window twice a day.

I still had access to the medical stores — a leftover privilege from the days when I'd been trusted to manage my own treatment. No one had thought to revoke it. Why would they? I was too weak to be a threat. Too sick to run.

I took dried provisions from the kitchen storage. Just a handful at a time, tucked into my pockets during the late hours when the cooks had gone to bed. Jerky. Nuts. Hard bread that wouldn't spoil.

I assembled a basic first-aid kit from the medical supplies. Bandages. Antiseptic. Pain medication. Nothing that would be missed in a single inventory check.

I drew a map from memory — every border patrol route I'd memorized during my years as Luna-in-waiting, back when I'd thought I'd need to know these things to help lead the pack. I sketched it on the back of an old supply requisition form and folded it into quarters.

I hid everything beneath a loose floorboard under my cot. The kind of hiding place a child would use. The kind no one would think to check because no one thought I was capable of running.

I kept the rejection papers in my jacket. Always.

And I waited.

---

The announcement came four days later.

Cole's voice carried through the pack house on the internal link — the one that connected every wolf in Ironcliff whether they wanted to hear it or not.

*Formal pack run. Blackridge cliff trail. Tomorrow at dawn. All ranked wolves required to attend. Luna Gia will be joining to demonstrate her commitment to the pack.*

A pause. Then, quieter but no less absolute:

*Leah will attend as well.*

I felt the command settle into my chest like a stone. Not a request. Not an invitation. An Alpha order that my wolf couldn't refuse even if I wanted to.

I sat on the edge of my cot and stared at the wall.

A pack run. With Gia. Along the cliffs.

I knew what this was. A fated mate's presence amplified the Alpha's aura during a run. It was pack dynamics 101 — the reason Alphas kept their mates close during displays of dominance. I was being summoned to be a battery. Again. To stand beside Cole and radiate bond-strength while Gia played Luna and the pack pretended I didn't exist.

Dr. Dillon's voice crackled through the link an hour later, carefully professional.

*Alpha, I must recommend that Leah refrain from physical exertion given her recent relapse. The strain could be—*

Cole's response was immediate. Flat.

*Recommendation noted. She'll attend.*

The link went silent.

I pulled my boots from under the cot. Laced them slowly, each pull of the leather deliberate. My hands didn't shake.

I checked the floorboard. The supplies were still there. The map. The provisions. The first-aid kit.

I pressed my fingertips to the side of my neck.

Then I lay down. Faced the window.

And prepared to run.