He wants me and the child to forget all of this.

Mira's POV

I lay face-down on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold tiles, Angelina's words still ringing in my ears.

Every single thing she had said was true.

That warehouse. The unlocked door. Her, crumpled against the wall, unable to stand. Me, running into the trees without looking back. She had stepped in front of stones meant for me, taken beatings meant for me, pushed the largest piece of food across the floor to my side. And on the night she needed someone most, I had run. Then I had kept her shut out from the pack.

I owed her for that. There was nothing I could say to make it otherwise. She had spent years after that as a blood slave in the hands of vampires, grinding through it alone. That debt was real. I didn't dispute it.

But there was another debt sitting just as heavily in my chest.

She was standing at Cyrus's side right now, wearing my robe, her hand resting on my husband's arm. The way Cyrus looked at me held no warmth, no mercy — nothing. The way he looked at her was exactly the way he used to look at me. When she had hurt me just now, when she had said the things designed to cut deepest, not one person in that room had spoken up for me.

I understood it then. Angelina had never wanted just an apology. She wanted me to feel it — to live inside the same pain she had lived inside because of me.

I closed my eyes, then opened them. I did owe her. Maybe I owed her everything. But that debt could not be paid with Cyrus.

"Mira."

Angelina's voice broke the silence, sharp and bright in the quiet room. Something had occurred to her — I could see it in the way her face lit up. She crouched down until we were level, eye to eye.

"Listen to me."

I didn't move. She reached out and pressed two fingers beneath my chin, forcing my head up. Her fingertips were cold, and the pressure was firm enough that I couldn't pull away.

"You said sorry just now." Her eyes held something playful and cruel. "I heard you. But an apology should come with action, don't you think?"

My throat tightened. My heartbeat grew louder. A bad feeling settled in my stomach.

"I can forgive you," she said. "All you have to do is stay."

"Stay?"

I stared at her, lost.

"Yes. Stay. Stay close to us." Her voice softened, almost coaxing. "Wherever I am, you're there. Right where I can see you. The three of us — you, me, and Cyrus — living together. How does that sound?"

The meaning landed all at once, and the cold spread through me from the inside out. She wanted me to watch. To watch Cyrus look at me like a stranger. To watch him be tender with her. She wanted my suffering to be the currency I used to repay what I owed.

"Is that so hard, Mira?"

She reached up and smoothed the hair back from my forehead, her touch unexpectedly gentle — the same way she used to do it when we were children, over and over again.

"You'd be making it up to me, and you'd still be close to Cyrus. Isn't that what you want? It's a good arrangement. So — will you?"

The room went very quiet.

I could hear my own breathing. I could hear the wind pressing through the gap beneath the door. My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

I already knew my answer. I couldn't watch Cyrus and Angelina together. That would be worse than his forgetting me. Worse than any of it.

"I won't allow it."

Cyrus's voice came down like a bucket of ice water. He didn't look at me once — he spoke directly to Angelina.

"I won't have her near me."

"Why not? It wouldn't affect either of us. I know you don't like her, but she's carrying a child — you could treat her like a stranger, just let her stay here and—"

Angelina sounded genuinely puzzled, still pressing her case.

"I said no."

He cut her off.

"Even if that child is mine, I won't claim it. Send her away, Angelina."

He kept going, leaving no room for me to speak.

"Everyone keeps telling me she's my wife, that she's carrying my child." He took one step forward and looked down at me from above. "But I can't remember her. Which means she's nothing."

Nothing. He said it quietly. It landed harder than everything else.

"Whatever history exists between the two of you is not my concern." He turned to Angelina, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "My position is simple: I want her gone. I don't want her in my life."

"Cyrus—"

The word tore out of me before I could stop it.

"Don't." His voice rose sharply. For the first time, he looked directly at me. "Don't call my name. If you still haven't understood, let me be absolutely clear."

"No matter what anyone says — Angelina is my Luna. She is the only one."

He held my gaze, his expression settling into something cold and final.

"Now get out of my room."

Silence fell again.

I couldn't quite take it in. This was the first time — the only time — Cyrus had ever spoken to me with anger. In the life I remembered, if even a single day passed without him seeing me, he would find a way back no matter where he was. He used to say that every minute he couldn't see me made his chest feel hollow.

Now I was here, and I was the reason he was angry.

Angelina said nothing more. She stood beside him and rubbed slow, soothing circles across his chest, guiding him gently back toward the bed. "Alright, don't be upset, I'll drop it — I'll send her away. Don't get worked up, you've only just recovered."

The Gamma stood at the doorway with his head bowed lower than before. The servants beyond the door quietly drifted back, as if afraid of being caught near something contagious.

I lay on the floor like something left behind. His words kept moving through me, grinding over the same ground again and again.

He had said Angelina was his Luna.

He had said that as long as he couldn't remember me, I was nothing.

He had said he would not claim our child.

He was cutting every thread between us. He didn't even want to see me — only that I go to the outermost courtyard, do whatever work was assigned to me, and stay out of his sight.

I didn't understand what that meant.

The Cyrus I knew had been afraid of letting me tire myself out. He had handled the pack rituals and ceremonies that were meant to be a Luna's duties, every one of them, so I wouldn't have to. He always said the same thing.

"Mira, you don't have to do anything. Just stay with me."

And now?

I pressed my palms against the floor and slowly pushed myself upright. The movement pulled at the wound on my back, and the pain went white behind my eyes. I breathed through it in short, careful pulls. Then I raised one hand and smoothed my clothes flat over my lower abdomen, and adjusted my collar to cover the scorched crescent mark on my chest.

Then I lifted my head and looked at Cyrus.

He was standing by the window, waiting for my answer.