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.

Ghost Zora POV:

Being a ghost wasn't like the stories. There were no chains, no white sheets. I was simply a consciousness, a point of view without the burden of a heartbeat.

I hovered near the ceiling of the operating theater, watching the chaos below with a strange, detached curiosity.

"Stop!" Dr. Petra screamed, throwing the defibrillator paddles aside. "She's gone."

The nurse was trembling. "Time of death: 10:42 AM."

Petra wasn't listening. She had picked up the scalpel again and widened the incision on my corpse's abdomen. Her face went pale, then green.

"Goddess above," she whispered.

"Doctor?" the nurse asked.

"Look at this," Petra hissed, pointing inside my body. "The organs... they're liquefied. It's Wolfsbane. Massive, chronic exposure. She's been rotting from the inside out for months."

I watched my own autopsy. It was gruesome, but I felt nothing.

Then, Petra probed deeper. She gasped, dropping her instrument. It clattered loudly on the silver tray.

"Where is the other one?" she demanded, her voice rising in panic.

"The other what?"

"The other essence!" Petra yelled. "She only has one! And it's shriveled and black! Where is her primary essence organ?"

The nurse shook her head. "I don't know. Her file says she's intact."

"The file is a lie!" Petra looked at my dead face, horror in her eyes. "She didn't have a spare to give. She was living on half a soul. This... this is murder."

Outside the glass, the hallway was quiet. Simon was laughing at something my mother said. He was leaning against the wall, looking relaxed. He thought I was just sleeping. He thought I was sturdy, like a weed that you could step on over and over again.

Petra looked at the clock. Then she looked at the dying, blackened organ inside me.

*"We can't transplant this," Petra said, her voice shaking. "It's necrotic. It's poison. It will kill the recipient."*

*"We have to," the nurse whispered, terrified. "The Alpha commanded a transplant. If Laila dies because we refused to operate, Simon will tear our throats out."*

*Petra hesitated. She looked at the intercom button. She could press it. She could tell Simon the truth right now-that Zora was murdered, that the organ is toxic.*

*But then she looked at Simon through the glass. He was powerful, unstable, and blindly devoted to Laila. If Petra came out with empty hands, she would be the scapegoat.*

*"Laila insisted," Petra muttered, a dark realization crossing her face. "She wanted the White Wolf's power. She thinks she's strong enough to handle anything."*

*Petra's expression hardened. It was a look of malicious compliance. "Fine. She wants the essence? She can have it. If her body rejects the poison, that's on her. I won't die for this family."*

I watched as she cut out the last piece of me. The piece that had kept me alive through five years of hell.

As the knife severed the connection, a memory washed over me, vivid and bright.

*Five years ago.*

*It was raining. I was chained to a bed in a basement. Not our basement-a dirty, illegal clinic in the rogue lands.*

*Laila stood over me. She wasn't sick then. She was desperate. She had no talent, no power, and the Alpha selection was coming up.*

*"Don't worry, Zora," she had said, holding a silver knife. "You're the White Wolf. You're strong. You can survive with one. I need this to be special."*

*She had cut me open while I was awake. She stole my essence to implant into herself, to fake the high-level energy signature of a Luna.*

*When I dragged myself home three days later, bleeding and broken, my mother had met me at the door.*

*"Where have you been?" she had screamed. "Laila just donated her kidney to your father! She saved the Alpha! And you were out whoring with rogues?"*

*They beat me. They threw me out into the rain.*

*And that was when Simon found me. He found me shivering under a bridge. He wrapped his jacket around me. He didn't know who I was. He just saw a girl in pain.*

*"You're safe now," he had said.*

I looked down at Simon in the hallway. He was checking his watch, impatient.

He had saved me then, only to kill me now.

Petra placed my blackened essence into a sterile container. "Take it to the recipient," she whispered. "God forgive us."

I floated through the wall, following the container.

*Go ahead,* I thought, looking at Laila's waiting form. *You wanted to be me so badly? Now you can die like me.*

Ghost Zora POV:

I watched the door to the operating theater swing open. Dr. Petra stepped out, pulling her surgical mask down. Her face was ashen, her hands trembling slightly where she gripped a clipboard.

She opened her mouth to speak, perhaps to tell them the truth, perhaps to scream that they were all murderers.

"Alpha, I need to speak with you about Zora's-"

My father shoved past her before she could finish the sentence.

"Is the transplant done?" he barked. "Is Laila stable?"

"The transfer is complete," Petra said, her voice hollow. "But Zora..."

"We don't care about the spare right now," my mother interrupted, her eyes manic with worry. She pushed Petra aside and rushed toward the recovery room where Laila was being wheeled. "My baby! My poor, brave Laila!"

I floated near the ceiling, a silent spectator to my own erasure.

Two orderlies came into the operating room. They didn't look at my face. They grabbed the sheet stained with my black blood and pulled it over my head.

"Heavy," one of them grunted as they lifted my corpse onto a gurney.

"Just get it to the morgue," the other said. "Alpha said no fanfare. Just put her in a drawer."

They wheeled my body away. No one followed. No one looked back. The wheel of the gurney squeaked, a lonely sound that echoed down the empty corridor.

I decided to follow the living. I drifted through the walls into the VIP suite.

Laila was waking up. The color was returning to her cheeks-a false flush caused by my poisoned essence pumping through her system. She took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering open.

"Oh," she sighed, smiling. "I feel... powerful."

It was the adrenaline of the transplant. She didn't know she was feeling the power of a dying star, a burst of energy before the collapse.

Simon was at her bedside instantly, kneeling on the floor. He took her hand.

"You made it," he said. His voice was gentle, but I saw the tension in his shoulders. His inner wolf was pacing, unsettled.

"Did Zora...?" Laila asked, making her voice small and fearful.

"She did her duty," my father said, beaming with pride. "You are whole now, Laila. You have the essence of the White Wolf line, even if it came from a defective source. It belongs to you now."

Laila sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. She looked at Simon with wide, wet eyes.

"Sister is gone, isn't she?" she whispered, though I saw the gleam of victory in her gaze. "I can feel it. The emptiness where she used to be."

Simon didn't answer. He just squeezed her hand.

"Simon," Laila said, leaning forward. "I know it's too soon... but the pack needs a Luna. I want to take care of you. I want to finish what she couldn't do."

My mother stepped forward, unclasping the heavy silver and moonstone necklace from her own neck-the symbol of the Luna of the Silver Moon Pack.

"She is right," my mother said, tears of joy streaming down her face. "Zora was a mistake. You, Laila, are our legacy."

She placed the necklace around Laila's neck. The stones sat heavy on her throat, right where my essence was slowly beginning to leak its poison into her blood.

"I want to be your mate, Simon," Laila murmured. "Mark me. Make it official."

I hovered right by Simon's ear.

*Look at her,* I whispered, though he couldn't hear me. *Look at the monster you chose.*

Simon hesitated. He looked at Laila's neck, exposed and waiting.

"The pack needs stability," my father pressed. "Do it, Alpha."

Simon leaned in.