Celeste wasn't prone to melodrama. She faced battles with iron will, walked through fire for her pack, and once delivered a treaty speech while actively bleeding from a shoulder wound. She was not, by nature or practice, someone who panicked easily.

But this? This was different.

She stood alone in her quarters, hands braced on the bathroom sink, staring at her reflection as if the mirror might blink first. No blood. No fever. Just a strange queasiness that had started that morning and refused ...