They came at night. Of course they did.

The shelter was quiet. Lights dimmed. Mira asleep, her tiny hand clutched tight in mine, even in dreams. I hadn’t slept in two days. Couldn’t. Every creak of the floorboards or hum of the heater felt like a warning. Something in my blood had turned restless. My wolf didn’t stir anymore, not since the bond broke—but my instincts were still sharp.

I should’ve known they wouldn’t let it go.

The door to the shelter’s back alley burst open with a crash that shook dust from the ceiling. Three shadows spilled in—familiar ones. I was already on my feet, Mira tucked behind me, still blinking awake.

“You shouldn’t have gotten in the way,” the leader said. Same boy from before. He didn’t look smug now. He looked mean. Hollow-eyed and shaking with whatever rage he’d kept stored.

“I told you she’s not your pawn.”

“She was useful,” he snapped. “And you cost me a week’s worth of delivery. You think that’s something I can just walk away from?”

I didn’t move. “You’re not touching her.”

One of them lunged. I caught him with my elbow, square in the jaw, but he was bigger than I expected. We went down hard. My shoulder cracked against the concrete. Mira screamed. The second boy grabbed her.

Something snapped in me.

I didn’t think. I moved.

Fists. Elbows. My body remembered what I couldn’t. I fought like something feral. Like I had nothing left to lose. Because I didn’t.

Then a boot connected with my stomach.

White pain. Blinding. All-consuming. I crumpled. My mouth opened but no sound came out. Something warm spilled down my thighs.

No. No no no—

Not now. Not like this.

A scream tore itself from my throat—raw and panicked. Blood soaked through my jeans. Too much. I could feel it leaving me, could feel them leaving me.

“No—please—”

But the gang was already retreating, scared off by the shelter’s staff rushing in, by shouting, lights flicking on, Mira sobbing.

I curled around myself on the ground, hands pressed to my belly like that could undo it. Fix it. Keep it in.

But I knew.

It was over.

They stitched me up in silence.

No sirens. No hospital this time. Just old blankets, antiseptic wipes, and the cold floor of the staff room. One of the volunteers—Anika—cried the whole time she worked. Whispered things like “I’m so sorry” and “you didn’t deserve this.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

It was like a piece of me had gone missing and taken my voice with it.

Mira held my hand the whole time. Didn’t ask questions. Just stayed there.

“I’m still here,” she said, softly, over and over. “You’re not alone.”

But I was. I had been. From the moment that heartbeat started in me, I had been something more. And now I was just less again.

I stayed curled on that cot for three days.

Didn’t eat. Didn’t speak. Just listened to the sound of Mira’s tiny breath at my side, the way she’d lay against my back like she could keep me tethered.

And somehow, that was what did it. Not the pain. Not the blood. Not even the screaming.

Her.

Because she still needed me.

And maybe I still needed her.

I got up on the fourth morning.

And I didn’t look back.