I hurried through the bright corridor, not stopping to think, just following instinct. I knew his scent too well—soft, warm, comforting, like fresh bread right out of the oven. It pulled me straight toward the children’s ward.
But before I could reach it, two Winterfell warriors stepped in front of the door.
I stopped abruptly. “I need to get in. My son—he’s inside.”
They didn’t respond.
Instead, one of them raised a small board and held it up in front of me.
[Luna Elira is prohibited from entering.]
My chest tightened. “No… what do you mean prohibited? That’s my child!”
Their faces stayed blank.
[Alpha Adrian’s orders.]
My voice broke as I stepped closer. “Please, you don’t understand—he needs me. Ezra needs his mother. Let me see him.”
Still nothing.
The second guard lifted his hand and pointed firmly at the hallway behind me.
[Step away.]
When I tried to reach the door anyway, he shoved me back. Hard. My shoulder slammed against the wall and pain shot through me.
“Please!” My voice cracked under the pressure. “He’s just three years old! He’s sick—he must be scared out of his mind. I need to be with him. I’m begging you!”
They didn’t even look at me.