My fingers went numb as I unhooked the silver wolf-and-moon mobile from the nursery ceiling.

Carter had installed it six months ago, after we started trying for a baby in earnest. He had stood on a step ladder for forty minutes, refusing to let me help because he wanted the first thing our child saw to be something he built himself.

Now two delivery men carried a stationary bike through the doorway while a third rolled in a set of parallel bars.

Three cardboard boxes marked SIENNA - TROPHIES followed them.

"We can donate the crib," Carter said from the hall. "If we need one later, we'll buy another."

I turned slowly. "Donate it?"

"It takes up too much floor space."

"It arrived two weeks ago. You spent an entire Saturday assembling it."

"And right now Sienna needs room to rehabilitate."

I lowered the mobile into a packing box containing unopened baby blankets, prenatal vitamins, and the nutrition notes I had started the morning my test turned positive.

"The basement gym has more space than this room."

"The stairs are a fall risk," he repeated.

"Then use the downstairs office."

"The team physio needs access to the equipment closet next door. Lena, stop making every practical decision emotional."

He gestured to the delivery men. They lifted the crib and carried it into the hallway.

One of the wooden rails scraped the doorframe.

The sound made something inside me flinch.

Sienna appeared behind Carter with her crutches tucked beneath her arms. "Please don't get rid of it because of me. Put it in storage."

"We don't need to decide today," Carter said, softening immediately. "I'll have it taken apart and wrapped."

I almost laughed. He could find gentleness after the decision, never before it.

Before the delivery crew left, one man asked where to send the crib. Carter answered "storage" without looking at me. I took the inventory tag from the worker and wrote my own name across the owner line. Whatever happened to this room, the things we bought for a child were not becoming team property simply because Carter had changed its purpose.

"I'll handle my things," I said.

I carried the box to the guest suite and slid it beneath the desk. My tote bag sat on the chair beside it, the positive test buried in the inner pocket where I had hidden it after our anniversary collapsed.

When I returned, Sienna was seated on the nursery window bench while a physical therapist adjusted her brace. Carter stood beside the parallel bars, discussing recovery targets as if the room had always belonged to her.

The silver-and-white wall paint Carter chose for a baby now framed Sienna's skating medals.

"Try ten steps," the therapist instructed.

Sienna gripped the bars and pushed herself upright. She made it three before her injured leg buckled.

Carter caught her around the waist.

"Easy," he said. "I've got you."

I looked away.

After the therapist left, I went downstairs to make dinner. Carter had a team meeting, and Sienna's medication schedule was taped to the refrigerator beside my canceled anniversary reservation.

At eight, she entered the kitchen without her crutches, using the counter for support.

"Naomi wants me to take the anti-inflammatory with food," she said. "Do you know where Carter put the crackers?"

"Second cabinet."

She opened it, then winced when she reached up.

I took the box down and set it beside her.

"Thank you." Her gaze dropped to my left hand. "No ring tonight?"

I looked down. I had removed my wedding band while kneading dough and forgotten to put it back on.

"I'm cooking."

"Of course."

Her tone was harmless. Too harmless.

She reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out an amber prescription bottle. "Could you open this? The childproof cap is impossible with my wrist like this."

I stared at the bottle.

"Ask Carter."

"He's at the arena." She tried the cap and hissed, letting it slip against the counter. "Never mind. I'll wait."

The responsible answer would have been to walk away.

Instead, I picked it up, pressed down, and twisted.

The cap clicked free.

"There."

I handed it back without touching the pills.

Sienna watched my fingers for half a second too long.

Then she smiled. "You're kinder than you think you are, Lena."

"Don't turn opening a bottle into a personality assessment."

I wiped my hands and returned to the dough.

My phone rang in the guest room. I left the kitchen to answer a call from the university admissions office about the sports nutrition program I had postponed four years earlier. The conversation lasted twelve minutes.

When I came back, Sienna was gone.

So was my tote bag from the chair by the guest-room desk.

I found it ten minutes later on the hallway console, zipped closed.

"Did you move this?" I asked the nearest housekeeper.

The zipper pull sat on the opposite side from where I always left it. My wallet was upside down, and the paper sleeve around the pregnancy test had been crushed. Nothing appeared missing, but someone had searched more than the initials on the outside of the bag.

"Miss Sienna asked me to bring it out because she thought it was hers," the woman said. "I realized the initials were yours and left it there."

I opened the bag. My wallet and keys were inside. I touched the inner pocket and felt the pregnancy test beneath the lining.

Still there.

I told myself I was being paranoid.

At midnight, Carter had not returned from the arena. I woke to a crash upstairs.

Sienna sat on the master-bedroom floor beside the bed, one hand gripping her stomach. The amber bottle lay open near her knee.

"I feel wrong," she whispered.

I grabbed the bottle and checked the label. "How many did you take?"

"Two. The normal dose."

Her skin was clammy.

I called the team clinic while Carter raced home.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Sienna was barely conscious.

A paramedic sealed the prescription bottle in a clear evidence bag. Before he carried it away, he asked who had last opened it.

Sienna's lashes fluttered.

Her eyes found mine.

"Lena did," she whispered.

"I opened the bottle because she asked me to," I said, my voice cutting through the sterile silence of the team's rehab clinic.

Carter stood by the examination bed, gripping a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside sat a small, amber prescription bottle.

"The lab rushed the results," Carter stated, holding the bag up to the fluorescent lights. "The ingredients in this bottle do not match her prescribed painkillers. And only two sets of fingerprints are on the plastic. Yours, and hers."

"She struggled with the childproof cap last night," I told him, meeting his hard stare. "I twisted it off and handed it back. That is all."

Julian, one of the senior Pack managers, crossed his arms. He stood near the door, blocking the exit. "And you didn't think to mention this earlier?"

"Nobody asked me who opened the bottle," I shot back, turning to face him. "You asked who was in the room."

On the bed, Sienna offered a weak, trembling sigh. The heart monitors beeped a steady, irritating rhythm next to her pale face.

"Maybe I just remembered it wrong," Sienna whispered, her gaze dropping to the white hospital blanket. She picked at a loose thread, refusing to look at me. "But Lena was really angry yesterday that I took the guest room."

I stepped toward the bed. "Sienna, do not do this."

"I'm just saying," Sienna continued, shrinking back against the pillows as if my presence physically threatened her. "Tensions were high. You made it very clear you didn't want me in your house."

Carter stepped between us, acting as a human shield.

Julian moved over to the corner counter, where my leather tote bag rested. "We need to clear all variables."

Before I could object, Julian unzipped the main compartment and tipped it over. My wallet, my keys, and a tube of lip gloss clattered onto the metal counter. Then, he reached into the zippered side pocket.

My stomach plummeted. That was the exact pocket where I had stashed the positive pregnancy test.

Julian pulled out a crushed cardboard medicine box.

"I found this in the side pocket of your bag, Lena," Julian announced, holding the carton up.

He turned the box toward Carter.

"The batch number on this empty carton matches the tainted pills," the team doctor noted, checking a clipboard in his hands.

"Someone went through my bag," I said, rushing forward.

I grabbed the tote from Julian's hands, my fingers frantically searching the lining. The plastic stick was gone from the side pocket. Whoever planted the box had shoved my things around, burying the test deep inside.

"Who else would go through your bag?" Carter demanded.

I clamped my mouth shut. If I mentioned the pregnancy test now, in front of Julian, the team doctor, and Carter, it would become a desperate defense tactic. A shield. I refused to use my baby as a shield to deflect a criminal accusation.

My hesitation hung in the air, thick and damning.

Carter stepped closer. His eyes, usually warm when he looked at me, were completely foreign. "You can hate me, Lena. But when did you become someone who takes it out on another person's body?"

The words struck my chest like a physical blow. "You think I poisoned her over a bedroom?"

"The security camera outside the rehab room caught you walking in with the bottle last night," Carter replied, his tone chillingly flat. "It didn't catch anyone else."

"Because she was already inside," I argued, pointing at Sienna. "The camera only covers the hallway."

"Enough." Carter held up a hand, silencing me. "The press already got wind of an ambulance at the facility. We are holding a brief media statement in twenty minutes."

"To say what?" I asked.

"To issue an apology," Carter said. "You will apologize to Sienna."

"I didn't swap her pills!"

"Even if you didn't, you should never have touched an injured player's private medication," Carter fired back. "If you still want to stand beside me as the future Luna, you need to know when to protect the Pack first."

Twenty minutes later, camera flashes blinded me in the facility's media room.

I stood at the podium, gripping the wooden edges until my knuckles turned white. Carter flanked my right side, his presence a heavy, oppressive weight. Sienna sat in a wheelchair to my left, looking every bit the tragic victim.

The room buzzed with impatient reporters, their microphones thrust toward the stage.

"Read the statement," Carter muttered under his breath, leaning close to my ear. "Just read it."

I stared at the index card on the podium. I refused to read the confession they wrote for me.

"I apologize for not disclosing that I handled the medication bottle beforehand," I told the microphones, enunciating every syllable.

I did not confess to tampering. I offered nothing else.

Before the reporters could shout their questions, Sienna reached up and grabbed my wrist. Her fingers dug into my skin, her nails sharp.

"I forgive you, Lena," she said, her voice amplified by the mic.

A collective gasp rippled through the press corps. The cameras clicked furiously, capturing the exact second my guilt was publicly cemented by her mercy.

I yanked my arm away from her grip.

Sienna swayed in her chair, letting out a soft, dramatic gasp.

Carter immediately turned his back on me. He grabbed Sienna's shoulders, steadying her, his face etched with panic. He didn't even glance in my direction to see if I was okay.

The crowd dispersed. Pack security ushered the reporters out of the building.

I retreated to the empty hallway outside the clinic. My hands shook as I dug deep into the bottom of my tote bag. My fingers brushed against smooth plastic. The pregnancy test. Whoever planted the box had shoved it down into the lining.

I pulled it out and slipped it into a small paper pharmacy bag I found on a nearby medical cart. It was time to tell Carter the truth. Not just about the baby, but about the fact that his blind trust was destroying our family.

I marched toward Sienna's clinic room, my steps silent on the linoleum.

Just as I reached the door, it swung open. Dr. Naomi Pierce stepped out, clutching a digital tablet. Carter followed right behind her, his expression grim.

"The reaction caused severe internal inflammation," Naomi told him, ignoring my arrival. "Sienna requires reconstructive surgery immediately. But there is a complication."

"Fix it, Naomi," Carter ordered.

"Her wolf biology is rejecting standard blood products," the doctor explained, tapping the screen. "She needs a rare Moon Blood transfusion to stabilize during the procedure. The Pack database just finished the automatic screening."

Naomi handed the tablet to Carter.

I stepped closer, my eyes catching the bright blue text at the very top of the screen.

Match Found: Lena Hart.

Carter stared at the glowing letters for a long second. Then, he raised his head. His gaze dropped to the small paper bag clutched in my hand, before locking onto my eyes.

"Lena," Carter commanded, his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "You cannot say no this time."

"Absolutely not," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

I grabbed Carter's wrist and pulled him away from the clinic door, dragging him down the blue-tiled corridor until we reached the quiet, sterile corner by the supply closets. My fingers trembled as I shoved the crumpled paper pharmacy bag into his chest.

"Open it," I demanded.

Carter frowned, his brow furrowing as he took the bag. He reached inside and pulled out the silver-ribboned anniversary card first. Then, his fingers brushed against the smooth plastic stick. He lifted it into the harsh fluorescent light.

His thumb dragged over the two pink lines.

"Six weeks," I told him, wrapping my arms around my stomach to shield myself from the sudden chill in the hallway. "I was going to tell you tonight. At our anniversary dinner."

"Naomi," Carter called out, his tone sharp and urgent. He marched back toward her, leaving me standing alone by the closets. "Does an early pregnancy mean she absolutely cannot do the Moon Blood transfer?"

My stomach twisted into a hard knot. He didn't ask if the baby was healthy. He didn't ask how I felt. He asked if I could still bleed for Sienna.

Naomi lowered her tablet, her clinical gaze shifting between Carter's tense frame and my defensive posture. "A supernatural blood transfer forces the donor's wolf to rapidly generate healing cells. In the first trimester, that extreme biological stress carries a severe risk of hemorrhaging and miscarriage. We do not treat this like a standard blood drive, Carter."

"But is it a hard rule?" Carter pressed, stepping closer to the doctor. "Is it physically impossible?"

"If Lena does not consent, no one has the authority to sign for her," Naomi stated, her voice ironclad. "The hospital policy is absolute. I will not authorize the procedure without her signature."

"I didn't know, Lena," he said, staring at the pregnancy test in his hand.

His embrace felt rigid. Before I could lean into his chest, a high-pitched, frantic alarm pierced the quiet. It came directly from Sienna's room.

"Check on her," I said, my voice hollow.

We followed Naomi inside. Sienna lay flat on the examination bed, her face ashen and slick with sweat. The nurses scrambled to silence the monitor, adjusting the IV lines connected to her arm.

"We need a decision on the blood protocol," Naomi announced to the room, checking the vitals on the screen. "The donor is pregnant. We are moving to the backup plan."

Sienna's eyes snapped open. She looked at me, her gaze dropping to my stomach, then darting to Carter.

"Pregnant?" Sienna whispered, her voice trembling. She shook her head frantically against the pillow, pushing herself up on one elbow. "No. Carter, no. I won't take it. I would rather delay the surgery than hurt your baby."

"Delaying means risking permanent damage," Naomi interrupted, tapping her tablet. "If we wait for the synthetic stabilizers, your wolf might not survive the inflammation. You could lose your ability to shift and your athletic recovery entirely."

"Sienna gave up her figure skating career to follow me to this Pack," Carter said, addressing the floor before raising his eyes to mine. "If I had protected her during that rogue attack, she wouldn't even have this injury."

"Carter, do not do this right now," I warned, stepping back toward the door.

"I have carried that failure for years," he continued, stepping closer to my side of the bed, his voice rising. "If she loses her wolf because we made her wait, can you honestly look at her every day and pretend nothing happened?"

"I said no, Carter. Use the backup plan," I insisted, turning my back on him to face the doctor. "Naomi, start the alternative protocol."

"The synthetic prep takes six hours," Naomi explained, crossing her arms. "Sienna's private management team demands the fastest surgical route. They will fight the delay."

Carter seized on the timeline. "Six hours? If her vitals crash while we wait, who takes the blame? The management team will tear this Pack apart."

"Please, don't force Lena," Sienna cried softly. She reached out, her pale fingers wrapping tightly around Carter's sleeve. She pulled him down until his ear was inches from her mouth. "I am just so scared, Carter. What if I wake up and my wolf is gone? What if I am empty?"

He stood up straight and locked his gaze on me. His eyes were cold, completely devoid of the warmth that used to greet me every morning.

"I will not force you to sign the waiver, Lena," Carter said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "But if she loses everything because you refused to help... I do not know if we can ever be the same as before."

The words echoed in the sterile room, striking me harder than a physical blow. He just put our marriage on the chopping block. Refusing the transfer wouldn't save both my baby and my husband. It only meant I had to choose which one I lost today.

I stared at the man I married. The man who built a crib with me two weeks ago.

"Fine," I said, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. "I will do it. On one condition."

Carter exhaled a sharp breath, his posture relaxing slightly. "Name it."

"You stay on my side of the glass the entire time," I demanded, crossing my arms to hide my shaking hands. "And when the transfer is over, you take me home first. Before you check on her."

"Done," Carter agreed without hesitation. He reached out, his hand resting heavily on the back of my neck. "I am right here, Lena."

Naomi signaled the nurses. "Prep the transfer suite. We move in five minutes."

Just as we reached the double doors of the transfer room, a nurse wheeled Sienna out of her clinic room. Her stretcher rolled past us, the metal wheels squeaking against the tile.

"Carter?" Sienna called out, her voice weak but carrying perfectly down the corridor.

Carter stopped walking.

"Will you be there when I wake up?" she asked, tears pooling in her eyes as she reached a hand out toward him. "Can you be the first face I see?"

Carter stood frozen between the open doors of my transfer suite and Sienna's stretcher.

"I will," he answered.

I turned to face him, my chest tightening until it hurt to breathe. "You just promised to take me home first."

Carter didn't retract his word to her. He looked at me, his expression hardened into a mask of pure logistics. "I will manage both sides, Lena. Let's just get this done."

A nurse stepped out of the transfer suite, holding a clipboard with a thick stack of papers. She handed me a black pen.

"I need your signature on the final page of the Moon Blood risk acknowledgment," the nurse said, flipping the document open on the metal counter.

I stared at the dotted line, the tip of the pen trembling as it touched the paper.