The human city loomed ahead like a mirage of steel and sorrow. Its skyline cut jagged shapes against the morning sky—so unlike the rolling hills and ancient trees of Draven territory. Here, the scent of pine was replaced by gasoline and damp concrete. The energy was thick, humming with life, but utterly alien.
Aria stood at the edge of the crumbling overpass, hood pulled low, scarf tucked high. She blended in with the early morning traffic—another tired face, another shadow in the crowd.
No one here would recognize her.
No one would care who she used to be.
Zara stepped beside her, her gaze sharper than ever. “We’re ghosts now. Remember that.”
Aria nodded, her hand instinctively brushing her stomach.
Seven weeks.
She hadn’t seen a doctor, hadn’t dared to shift for fear of harming the tiny, fragile life within her. But she knew. She felt it in the tightness of her skin, in the strange hunger, in the bursts of emotion she couldn’t explain.
They had crossed the border two nights ago with forged IDs and false names. Zara had a contact—an old rogue who traded in favors and fake lives. The woman had looked Aria up and down, then handed her a sealed envelope and a warning: “Don’t make friends. Don’t ask questions. Don’t look back.”
Now, they walked the streets like fugitives.
They passed a group of men smoking on the corner, their laughter too loud, too sharp. Aria lowered her gaze and kept walking. Even here, far from pack land, the instinct to be hunted pulsed beneath her skin.
They turned down a side street and entered a narrow brick building that smelled of mildew and floor polish. A flickering light buzzed overhead. Zara climbed the stairs first, her footsteps echoing off the chipped walls.
Second floor. Room 3C.
Zara unlocked it with the rusted key they’d been given.
“Home,” she said grimly.
The room was small—just enough space for a bed, a peeling wardrobe, and a kitchenette that looked like it hadn’t worked since before the last war. The window faced a fire escape, and beyond that, more buildings stacked like boxes.
But there was a lock on the door. Running water. Heat.
It would do.
Aria sat on the edge of the mattress. It creaked beneath her.
Zara closed the door and dropped her bag. “We’ll stay here for now. No magic, no contact with wolves. We’re just two tired women trying to rebuild.”
“And if Kael starts looking?”
Zara met her gaze. “We make sure he’s looking in the wrong direction.”
Aria exhaled, nodding slowly.
Still, the question haunted her.
Would he look?
That night, Aria showered with the lights off.
The city noises filtered through the bathroom window—honking, shouting, distant sirens. She scrubbed until her skin was red, as if trying to erase what was left of her old self.
When she stepped out, wrapped in a thin towel, Zara was sitting cross-legged on the floor, organizing the few supplies they had scavenged. Canned food, bandages, two burner phones, a stack of forged documents.
“I called the contact,” Zara said. “She can get us into the clinic downtown. No questions asked.”
Aria’s throat tightened. “I need to know if the baby’s okay.”
“You’ll go in as Marianne Vale. Single, no insurance, no father listed.”
Aria flinched at that last part, even though it was necessary.
No father.
No Kael.
Just her.
She forced herself to nod. “Okay.”
Zara handed her a plain T-shirt and sweatpants. “You’re not Aria of House Vale anymore. You’re nobody. Remember that.”
Aria dressed in silence. The clothes were soft, unfamiliar. No crest, no embroidery. Just fabric. Just function.
She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink and didn’t recognize the woman staring back. Her hair was tied back, her cheeks hollow from travel, her eyes… hard.
But beneath it all, something glowed.
A spark. A truth she couldn’t erase.
She wasn’t nobody.
She was a mother.
And that made her dangerous.
The clinic was a squat, grimy building wedged between a pawn shop and a check-cashing place. Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and despair.
The receptionist didn’t ask questions. Just took the ID Zara had provided and waved her toward a seat.
Aria sat in the waiting room surrounded by humans—some coughing, some arguing on cracked phones, some just staring into space. No one noticed her. No one saw the wolf in their midst.
Her name was called—“Marianne?”—and she followed the nurse down a narrow hallway into an exam room.
The doctor was young, exhausted, and didn’t bother making eye contact until the sonogram lit up the screen.
Then he paused.
“There,” he murmured, adjusting the probe. “Heartbeat’s strong. Looks like seven weeks.”
Aria blinked at the screen. The grainy shape on it barely made sense to her. But the flickering beat—fast and determined—felt like thunder in her ears.
The doctor continued his exam, asked a few routine questions, then scribbled something in the chart. “No abnormalities so far. We’ll want to keep a close eye on things, but for now… everything looks good.”
Aria nodded, her throat thick.
She left the clinic with a small folder of printouts clutched to her chest.
Back in the apartment, Zara was waiting.
“Well?” she asked.
Aria handed her the sonogram picture. “Seven weeks. Healthy.”
Zara smiled. “Then we’re doing something right.”
They taped the picture to the inside of the wardrobe door, hidden from view unless opened intentionally. Aria stared at it for a long time that night. That tiny blur, that heartbeat—her child.
Kael’s child.
And for now… hers alone.
In the dark, the city outside never slept. But inside their tiny safehouse, Aria felt something stir.
Resolve.
She had no title, no protection, no bond.
But she had a purpose now.
And that would be enough to survive.
Maybe even enough… to win.
