Zora POV:

The hospital corridor was blindingly white. The smell of antiseptic stung my nose, warring with the metallic tang of blood that constantly coated my tongue. I was shuffling toward the prep room, escorted by a warrior guard as if I were a flight risk, when a hand slammed against my chest.

Simon.

"Where are the notes?" he demanded.

I blinked, swaying. "What notes?"

"The research notes on the Wolfsbane antidote variants," he snapped. "Laila needs them. She said she left the final calculations with you to double-check because she was too weak to hold a pen."

I let out a dry, rattling laugh. It hurt my ribs. "You mean the research I did? The research she's been presenting as her own for three years?"

Simon grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "Don't you dare slander her! Laila is the youngest potion master in the history of the Silver Moon Pack. You're just her assistant. Now give me the notebook."

"It's in my bag," I whispered, pointing to the worn canvas tote the guard was carrying.

He ripped the bag from the guard's hand and rummaged through it until he found the leather-bound notebook. It contained months of my work. My handwriting. My genius.

My mother walked up behind him, her heels clicking sharply on the tile like gunshots. "Did you get it?"

"Yes," Simon said, clutching the book like a holy relic. "She tried to claim it was hers again."

My mother looked at me with pure disgust. "You are pathetic. Stealing your sister's glory even when she lies on her deathbed. The pack comes first, Zora. Laila is the future. You are nothing but a stain we have to wipe away."

Just then, the door to the VIP suite opened. Laila was there, sitting in a wheelchair, pushed by a nurse. She looked pale, beautiful, and fragile-the perfect victim.

She saw Simon holding the notebook and offered a weak, trembling smile. "Oh, Simon... thank you. I was so worried Zora would... lose it."

She looked at me then. Her blue eyes didn't hold sickness; they held triumph. She let her gaze travel down my body, mocking my inability to shift, mocking the weakness that she had caused by poisoning me for months.

She leaned back into Simon as he rushed to her side. I saw her hand brush his arm, and I saw the spark of static electricity. *It wasn't the mate bond-it was stolen magic. She was siphoning the energy from the essence she had butchered out of me five years ago to mimic the connection.*

"I'm done," I said, my voice hollow. "Take the book. Take the essence. Take everything."

I turned and walked toward the prep room, ignoring the guard. I needed to sever the last threads.

Inside the small waiting room, I found the few personal items I had left. A scarf I had knitted for Simon for the upcoming winter. A photo of my parents from before I turned eighteen.

I walked over to the bio-hazard incinerator in the corner.

I threw the photo in. Then, I held the scarf. It was soft, made of the finest grey wool. I had poured my love into every stitch, hoping he would wear it and finally smell me on it.

I dropped it into the flames.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me. I doubled over, retching. *Thick, black sludge splattered onto the pristine white floor.* My inner wolf howled-a sound of pure agony that echoed in my skull. The wolfsbane had reached my heart.

The door banged open. Simon and Laila were there again. Laila was crying hysterically.

"She ruined it!" Laila screamed, pointing at me. "She changed the numbers! The dosage is wrong! If I had used this, I would have killed the test subjects!"

Simon stormed over to me, stepping right in the puddle of my toxic blood without even noticing it. He grabbed me by the hair, forcing my head up.

"You vicious little snake," he snarled, his face inches from mine. "You tried to sabotage her work? You tried to make her look incompetent to the Council?"

"I didn't..." I gasped, blood bubbling past my lips. "Those are... the correct... formulas..."

"Liar!" Laila shrieked from her wheelchair. "You want me to fail! You want Simon to hate me!"

My mother entered, took one look at the scene-me on my knees, bleeding black, Simon holding me by my hair-and made her judgment instantly.

"Apologize," she ordered. "On your knees, Zora. Apologize to your sister, the future Luna, for your treachery."

I looked at my mother. I looked at the man who was supposed to be my soulmate.

"No," I said.

Simon growled, a deep, animalistic sound. "Do not defy us, Zora."

"I won't apologize for the truth," I said, a strange calm washing over me. "And I won't apologize for dying."

Simon shoved me backward. I hit the wall with a thud.

"Get her prepped," he commanded the nurses hovering nervously in the hallway. "Cut the essence out. I'm done dealing with her."

Zora POV:

They didn't just want my life; they wanted my name.

While I was being prepped, stripped of my clothes and put into a thin, humiliating hospital gown, my phone buzzed incessantly on the side table. It was the Pack Forum.

I picked it up with trembling fingers.

*Breaking News: The Truth Behind the Potions.*

There was a post from Laila's account. It claimed that I had been blackmailing her, forcing her to include my "flawed" theories in her work, which was why the Academy had flagged her recent paper for plagiarism. She spun a tale of a jealous, non-shifting sister who wanted to drag the pack's genius down into the mud.

The comments were a landslide of hatred.

*"Useless Omega."*

*"She should be banished."*

*"Why is she even still in the pack?"*

The door opened, and Simon didn't walk in-he stormed in. He didn't speak. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and dragged me out of the room.

"Simon, stop! I can't walk fast!" I cried out, stumbling. My bare feet slapped against the cold linoleum.

"You're going to fix this," he growled, not slowing down. He dragged me like a rogue, like garbage, right into the main waiting area where my family and a few pack elders were gathered.

He threw me onto the floor. I landed hard on my knees, the impact jarring my spine.

I looked up and saw Laila holding a phone. The red light was on. She was livestreaming.

"Tell them," Simon commanded, his voice booming so everyone in the room-and everyone watching online-could hear. "Tell the pack that you lied. Tell them you sabotaged Laila out of jealousy."

I looked at him, searching for the boy who had saved me from a storm five years ago. The boy who had wrapped his jacket around me and promised I was safe. That boy was dead.

Laila started coughing, a delicate, pitiful sound. "I can't breathe," she wheezed, clutching her chest. "Her scent... it's so bitter. It's choking me."

It was a lie. I had no scent left. The poison had stripped it away. But Simon reacted instantly.

"Do it now, Zora! Or I swear by the Moon Goddess, I will throw you into the dungeon. *You can rot in the dark before I let you near a surgery table.*"

*The dungeon meant dying alone, in slow, excruciating agony. The surgery was a guillotine-quick, final. The anesthesia would be my freedom.*

I looked at the camera lens. I looked at the thousands of viewers.

"I..." My voice cracked. "I am jealous of my sister."

"Louder," my father said from the corner, arms crossed.

"I am jealous," I said, my voice dead. "I lied. Laila is the genius. I am... I am nothing."

"And?" Laila prompted, a cruel glint in her eyes.

"And I am sorry."

Laila lowered the phone, ending the stream. She instantly stopped wheezing. She looked at me with a beatific smile, the picture of grace. "I forgive you, Zora. Even though you hate me, I still love you. That's why I'm letting you save me."

"See?" my father said, nodding at the elders. "Laila has the heart of a true Luna. Zora has finally learned her place."

"Good," Simon said. He looked at me with pure disdain. "Get her out of my sight. The surgery starts in ten minutes."

He turned his back on me to hug Laila.

I lay on the floor for a moment, too weak to move. The Mind-Link was buzzing with the collective thoughts of the pack.

*Did you hear her admit it?*

*Disgusting.*

*She deserves to die.*

I closed my eyes, blocking them out.

Laila leaned down, pretending to help me up. Her lips brushed my ear.

"You know," she whispered, her voice like silk wrapped around a razor blade. "Even the Moon Goddess has abandoned you. Simon is mine. He was always mine. And now, your life is mine too."

I pulled away from her, using the wall to stand. I didn't say a word. There were no words left. I just turned and walked toward the operating theater.

Zora POV:

The operating theater was a chamber of horrors for my kind.

It wasn't just the sterile white tiles or the blinding lights. It was the silver. The surgical tools were lined up on a metal tray, gleaming with a deadly luster. For humans, silver was just metal. For werewolves, it burned like acid and halted our supernatural healing.

To cut into a werewolf, you had to use silver-coated blades to stop the skin from knitting back together instantly.

I sat on the edge of the operating table, shivering. The gown offered no warmth.

The clock on the wall ticked. One hour left. Maybe less.

I could feel the Wolfsbane gathering in my chest, a tight, constricting knot. My heart was beating irregularly-*thump... thump-thump... pause.*

Through the glass observation window, I could see the prep room next door. Laila was lying on a plush bed. My mother was fastening a necklace around her throat-the Moonstone necklace. It was an heirloom, supposed to protect the wearer during times of physical stress.

I touched my own bare neck. No necklace. No comfort.

My father walked into the observation room. He looked through the glass, his eyes meeting mine.

I pressed the button on the intercom. "Father?"

He frowned, pressing the button on his side. "What is it? Don't stall."

"If I die on this table," I asked, my voice trembling, "will you howl for me?"

In our culture, the howl was the guide for the soul to find the Moon Goddess. To die without a howl was to be lost in the void.

My father's face twisted in annoyance. "Don't be morbid. You're just giving an essence organ. You aren't dying. Stop trying to manipulate us with pity."

He released the button and turned away.

Tears finally spilled down my cheeks.

The door to my room opened. It wasn't a nurse. It was Simon. He stood at the foot of the table, looking uncomfortable.

"Laila wanted me to check on you," he said stiffly.

"Did she?" I whispered.

"Look," he said, running a hand through his hair. *"When this is over... you can move out of the attic. The guest room on the second floor is empty. It's warmer."*

*He wasn't offering kindness. He was offering a cage with better heating.* He was making promises to a corpse to ease his own conscience.

"Simon," I said softly. "Look at me."

He finally met my eyes. For a second, just a fraction of a second, I saw confusion in his gaze. His wolf was stirring, sensing the finality of the moment, but Simon pushed it down.

"Just get it done," he said, and walked out.

The surgeon, Dr. Petra, entered. She was a Beta, efficient and cold. She didn't know about the poison. No one did.

"Lie back," she ordered.

I lay back on the cold metal. The silver beneath the thin sheet made my skin prickle.

"Anesthesia," Petra said to the nurse.

The mask was placed over my face. I took a deep breath. The gas smelled sweet.

As my consciousness began to fade, the surgeon picked up the silver scalpel.

"Making the incision," she announced.

The silver blade sliced into my skin.

It was the trigger.

My body, already fighting a losing war against the wolfsbane, collapsed under the trauma of the silver. The poison, sensing the breach, exploded from my organs into my bloodstream.

The heart monitor screamed. A single, high-pitched tone.

*Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.*

"She's crashing!" Petra yelled. "Heart rate is zero! Get the defibrillator!"

I couldn't feel the pain anymore. The burning stopped. The cold stopped.

I was floating.

I looked down. I saw my body jerking as they shocked it. I saw the black veins spreading rapidly from the incision site, turning my skin the color of charcoal.

*It's over,* I thought.

I turned my spiritual gaze upward, expecting a light. But there was no light. There was no howl to guide me.

I was dead. But I was still here.