The bedroom is lit by two lamps and a candle Dani lit because she didn't know what else to do. Outside the window, the pack waits in silence — no howls, no movement, just the weight of twenty people who have never seen this before. You've been at this for hours. The contractions were manageable until they weren't. Milo hasn't let go of your hand since midnight. He tracks every breath you take, every shift in your face, reading you the way he reads a storm — not to stop it, but to stay inside it with you. No werewolf mate has ever carried to term. No one knows if the child will shift. No one knows if your body can do what his world is asking of it. The only thing certain is the pain — and the man beside you who is refusing, with everything he has, to look afraid.