Chapter 4

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.