POV: LUNA SILVER
The crystal pulses like a tiny blue heart in Finn's palm.
My own heart answers, thud-thud, thud-thud, right against the babies inside.
The night-class bell keeps ringing, but neither of us moves.
Wind rattles the bike rack.
A pedal spins and clicks.
I taste metal on my tongue.
Finn's silver eyes drop to my tummy.
The hoodie has ridden up again.
White fur shows, and the round bump that was flat last month.
I yank the cloth down, but it is too late.
His eyebrows lift.
Not angry.
Not yet.
More like surprise mixed with something soft I cannot name.
I jumped up.
Sand flies from my shoes.
I want to run, but the only path is past him.
He blocks it just by standing.
He is only eleven, but he is already taller than some dads.
I take a step back.
My tail knocks over a bike.
It clatters loud.
We both flinch.
Footsteps echo on the playground.
Kids hurry toward the classrooms.
No one looks our way yet.
Soon the yard will be empty and the lights will shut off.
I need to leave before that happens.
I hug my arms across my middle.
Finn lowers his hand.
"Luna," he whispers.
His voice cracks a little.
"I won't hurt you."
I want to believe him.
Alphas are supposed to protect, but the law is bigger than any kid, even a king.
I shake my head fast.
Words stick in my throat like dry bread.
He opens his fingers wider.
The crystal chip keeps glowing.
Each flash matches a tiny kick inside me.
The babies know him.
That scares me more.
I darted left.
He shifts right.
We do a silly dance.
I almost laugh, but a sob pops out instead.
Heat floods my eyes.
I hate crying in front of people.
Mom said tears are brave, but they feel like weakness right now.
Finn's shoulders drop.
He places the crystal on the seat of the nearest bike.
Then he steps back, palms up.
A truce.
I stare at the glowing chip.
If I take it, I admit it is mine.
If I leave it, someone else will find it and ask questions.
The final bell stops.
Lights click off one row at a time.
Dark creeps closer.
I grab the crystal and stuff it into my pocket.
It feels warm, alive.
Finn does not move.
"I have to go to class," I mutter.
My voice sounds like a mouse.
He nods.
"I'll walk you."
"No."
The word shoots out too sharp.
He flinches.
I soften.
"Please.
Just… don't."
I step around him.
He lets me pass.
My legs feel like water, but I walk.
Each step I expect him to shout, to call the Elder, to end my life here.
He stays quiet.
His eyes burn between my shoulder blades.
I reach the school door.
My hand touches the handle.
I cannot stop myself.
I look back.
Finn still stands by the bikes.
Moonlight paints him gold and black.
He raises one hand, not waving, just holding it up like a promise.
Then he turns and jogs toward the Alpha hall instead of class.
That is worse.
Alpha hall means meeting with the Elder.
Meeting with the Elder means telling.
I push inside.
The hallway smells of chalk and old socks.
Kids bustle into rooms.
I slip into the bathroom and lock the last stall.
I sit on the toilet lid and count breaths.
One, two, three…
I get to twenty.
The kicks are calm.
My hands stop shaking.
Class will start any second.
I should move, but my feet feel stuck in mud.
I pull the crystal from my pocket.
It glows brighter here in the dark.
I hold it against my belly.
Both babies roll toward it like it is a magnet.
A soft blue light shines through my hoodie threads.
I gasp again.
It is beautiful and terrifying.
The bathroom door squeaks.
Footsteps click.
Two girls giggle.
I hide the light against my shirt.
They prattle about Finn winning the race.
One says she saw him talking to me.
The other teases that maybe he likes me.
They leave without looking under the door.
My cheeks burn.
I wait until the hall goes quiet.
Then I sneak out and trot to science class.
The teacher, Mr. Dale, marks me late.
He frowns but says nothing.
I slide into my seat at the back.
Milo the raccoon kid sits beside me.
He smells like oil and candy.
He nudges my arm with his elbow.
"You look like you saw a ghost," he whispers.
His whiskers twitch.
I shake my head and stare at the board.
Numbers blur.
My pocket keeps glowing.
I hid it under the desk.
Milo's eyes narrow, but he turns back to his worksheet.
He is good like that—knows when to hush.
The lesson drones on.
My mind runs outside.
I picture Finn walking into the Alpha hall.
I picture the Elder's stern face.
I picture being sent away into the cold mountains alone with two babies in my belly.
My pencil snaps in half.
The crack makes everyone jump.
Mr. Dale sighs and gives me a new one.
The clock hands crawl.
Finally the release bell rings.
Kids dash for the buses.
I stuff books into my bag and head for the rear door.
Milo follows.
"Walk home together?" he asks.
His striped tail swishes.
I nod.
The company feels good tonight.
We step outside.
The moon is higher now, smaller, paler.
Clouds scarf across it like thin blankets.
Wind pushes us sideways.
We cut through the woods path.
No one else uses it after dark.
Branches scrape like claws.
Halfway along, Milo stops.
His ears perk.
He sniffs.
"Someone's following," he murmurs.
Voice low.
Tail puffed.
I listen.
Footsteps crunch leaves behind us.
Too heavy for a kid.
Too soft for a grown-up wolf.
My heart kicks.
I grab Milo's sleeve.
We speed up.
The steps speed up too.
We break into the clearing near the old swings.
Moonlight floods the open space.
I spin around.
Finn steps out from the trees.
He is alone.
No Elder.
No guards.
Just him.
His chest rises and falls like he ran hard.
Milo growls low.
I put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.
Finn raises both hands, same truce as before.
"I need to talk," he says.
Breath white in the cold.
"Only five minutes.
Then you can go."
Milo looks at me.
I nod once.
Milo backs away but stays close enough to pounce.
Finn walks nearer until I can see frost on his lashes.
"I didn't tell," he says quickly.
"I went to the hall to look up the old law myself.
I need to know if there's a way to help."
My throat closes.
"Why would you help me?"
The words squeak out.
He swallows hard.
"Because it's my fault.
The bump.
The crystals.
The babies."
He points at my belly.
His hand trembles.
"I can't let you face this alone."
Tears sting my eyes again.
I bite my lip to stop them.
Milo's mouth falls open.
He didn't know the last part until now.
Finn reaches into his jacket.
He pulls out a folded paper.
He hands it to me.
I unfold it with shaking fingers.
It is a copy of the erased line from the scroll, written in Finn's neat handwriting:
If the Alpha's true mate carries twins, the law must change to keep love safe.
Underneath he added:
I believe you are my true mate.
Let me prove it.
The paper glows faintly, reacting to the crystal in my pocket.
Both lights pulse together.
The babies kick hard, as if cheering.
I press the paper against them.
Warmth spreads through my whole body.
Milo whistles low.
"Big stuff," he mutters.
I look up at Finn.
His silver eyes shine with hope and fear mixed.
He is just a kid, like me.
A king, but still a kid.
He can't fix everything.
But he wants to try.
That counts.
I open my mouth to answer.
A howl cuts the night—long, deep, angry.
Not a kid wolf.
A full-grown one.
Another howl answers, closer.
Search party.
They are looking for someone.
My name rides the wind.
Finn's face pales.
"They found out anyway," he whispers.
"Run.
Both of you.
I'll slow them down."
I shake my head.
"They'll blame you too."
He squeezes my hand once.
"I don't care.
Go."
More howls circle the woods.
Torches flicker between trees.
Voices shout my name.
The Elder's voice is loudest.
Banishment echoes in every syllable.
Milo tugs my sleeve.
"This way," he hisses.
He points toward the old silver mine tunnels.
No one has gone there since the cave-in last year.
It is dangerous.
It is also the only place the pack won't search first.
I look at Finn.
His jaw sets hard.
He lets go of my hand.
The space where his fingers were feels cold and alone.
I tuck the paper and crystal deep into my pocket.
The babies are quiet, as if holding their breath too.
I backed away.
Finn turns toward the approaching howls.
He lifts his head and answers with his own call—strong, clear, royal.
He leads them away from us, straight into the dark.
Milo and I run.
We dive into the mine tunnel mouth.
Black swallows us.
The last thing I see is Finn's silver paw print glowing on the ground where he stood, a trail for the hunters to follow him instead.
Inside the tunnel, my crystal lights up again.
It shows old rails, broken boards, spider webs.
The air smells like rust and wet stone.
We race deeper.
Behind us, the howls grow wild.
One sounds like Finn in pain.
I stumble.
Milo catches my arm.
"We can't stop," he pants.
"He chose this."
Tears blur the path, but I keep moving.
The tunnel forks.
Left or right.
No map.
No moon.
Just the glowing crystal leading the way.
I pick left.
We round a bend.
The light reveals a dead end—and a heavy metal door I have never seen before.
A silver lock hangs open, broken.
Inside, shelves of old books, jars of moon juice, and a single baby crib made of crystal wait in silence.
It looks like someone expected us.
My babies kick hard at the sight.
The crystal in my pocket burns hot.
Milo's eyes go wide.
"Luna," he whispers, "this isn't random.
Someone planned this hideout."
Behind us, the howls stop.
Silence falls, thick as wool.
Then a single set of paws echoes down the tunnel—slow, calm, coming straight for the door.
Not Finn.
Not the Elder.
Someone else.
The crystal glows brighter, almost blinding.
I grip Milo's arm.
We have nowhere left to run.
The shadow of the visitor stretches across the wall—long, curved, carrying something in its jaws that glints like a crown.