The ceiling was too white. Fake white. Like someone was trying to convince me everything was clean again.

But it wasn’t. I wasn’t.

I didn’t move. I didn’t ask where I was. The beep of the monitors told me more than anyone could. Hospital. Or something like it. Somewhere they put people like me—quiet, broken things that needed fixing.

Or hiding.

I couldn’t feel anything below my neck. Not physically. Emotionally. Whatever. It was all the same. I was here, I was breathing, and that should have counted for something.

But it didn’t.

The door opened.

I didn’t look. I didn’t have to. I’d always known what his footsteps sounded like. Heavy, measured. Like everything he did was on purpose. Alpha steps.

Kade.

I used to breathe easier when I felt him nearby. Used to think the bond meant something unshakable. Eternal. All that poetic bullshit they feed you when you're born into this life.

But nothing's eternal. Especially not love.

“You’re awake,” he said.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t even blink. Just kept staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows move like clouds across fake daylight.

“They told me what happened.”

That got my attention—but only a little. A flicker. Not because I wanted to hear him say it. Just to see if he would.

He didn’t.

“You were found… pregnant.”

There it was. The thing in his throat. The line he couldn’t cross. I heard it in the way his voice dipped. Like he couldn’t quite believe the words even as he spoke them.

Or maybe he believed them too much.

I almost laughed. Almost. The kind of laugh that comes right before a breakdown. But there was nothing in me left to break. Just dust and the faint, traitorous thrum of a mate bond clinging to life.

He took a breath like it hurt.

“I can’t... I won’t claim you. I revoke our bond.”

Snap.

It didn’t feel like fire. Or ice. Or anything I’d always heard it would be. Just… gone. Like a song ending mid-note.

Like silence swallowing a scream.

I turned my head—slow, mechanical—to look at him. He was already facing the door. Already halfway gone.

“Okay,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine.

He didn’t turn around.

Didn’t ask if I’d be okay.

Didn’t say he was sorry.

The door hissed shut behind him, and just like that, it was white again. Just white. Just silence.

And me, still here.